


Ibex

by AgeOfAlejandro



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Dark Harry Potter, F/M, Gen, Morality, Politics, Psychological Torture, Time Travel, Torture, affably evil villan, powerful!Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-05
Updated: 2012-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-30 15:18:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 63,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgeOfAlejandro/pseuds/AgeOfAlejandro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter has traveled back to the year that shaped his life-1981; his actions will change the face of the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> AU from HBP onward, no Hallows. The war dragged longer than in canon by five years or so. Powerful!Harry (but not super!Harry), Dark!Evil!Harry, highly political!Harry, violence, gore, more character deaths than you can shake a stick at, and intrigue. Quite a bit will be revealed as we go along, so bear with me! I'm also examining both evil!Harry and the right way to wield power from a different angle. I kind of adhere to a Kantian view of ethics (which is to say that you should do the right thing because it's the right thing, and not because it makes you feel good or whatever), so Harry here is evil both in a traditional sense (though affably so) and evil in a Kantian moral sense. And leaders who kick their subordinates tend not to survive (please to be reading your history books), which Harry is very aware of.  
> Many thanks to my various betas - Brighty18, Kitten Ninja, and Gepetto!

**There are two levers for moving men, interest and fear.**

**Men are more easily governed through their vices than their virtues.**

—Napoleon Bonaparte

* * *

Harry landed—hard—on the limestone stone circle he had been using a hundred years in the future. This was Cornwall in June, 1981. He picked himself up and looked around.

After healing the emerging bruises, he settled down on the yellowing rock dolmen and stared out over the verdant green valleys. It was late afternoon and the liquid amber light gilded the hyacinths and bushes. He absently stared at his surroundings, reviewing what he knew and what needed to be done.

He'd never been able to pin-point exactly when Peter had traded sides. Snape hadn't known, and neither had Remus or Sirius. Dumbledore had guessed August of 1981 and Harry had picked a date well before then so he could get as many of the horcruxes as he could and catch Peter. Harry knew from Sirius that Wormtail had become the secret keeper on September 28, 1981; Sirius had remembered the date with bitter clarity.

Regardless, and Harry while had enough magic left to apparate to Diagon Ally, he was bone tired. He pulled up the hood of his cloak and disapparated in a swirl of robes.

* * *

He checked in at the Leaky Cauldron for the night as Issac Merriweather, which was an old alias from years of surreptitious traveling. And the moment Gringotts opened the next morning, he made his way down to the bank. There was a surprising amount of traffic for it being seven in the morning, but Harry supposed the crowd were trying to get their children's school shopping done early to avoid London's nastily muggy summer afternoons. Reaching the bank, he slid into the lobby and crossed the marble floor to the nearest line of tellers.

"I'd like to start an account, please," he said to the goblin behind the counter.

The teller eyed him cautiously for a moment before he pulled open a drawer and rummaged through it. He fished out a stack of papers after a moment and pushed them across the top of the counter. "Please fill these out. When you have done that, we can open the account. The initial deposit is fifty galleons."

Harry nodded and plucked the quill out of the pot of ink embedded in the counter top. He had begun to scratch away at the parchment before the goblin interrupted him coolly. "Please use the ledge near the entrance."

"My apologies," Harry said irritatedly, before making his way over to the ledge to finish his paperwork.

Sometime later, he made his way back to the teller, the sheaf of parchment in hand. The goblin accepted the paperwork from Harry and flipped through it. "Do you have the initial deposit?"

Harry dropped a large sack on the counter and the goblin pulled it towards himself. He peeked into the bag and then dug around. With a sharp nod, he pressed something behind the counter. There was a _clink_ and the goblin handed Harry a key before disappearing. A few moments later, he returned with another goblin in tow.

"Longshank will take you down to your vault, Mr. Merriweather."

"Thank you," Harry said as the new goblin slipped around the counter.

Later that afternoon, house shopping commenced and before two weeks had elapsed, Harry had himself a place in Cornwall, which he called Ramshackle Cottage. He figured that he would attract less attention with a house and a place in government records.

As soon as all the housing legalities were sorted out, he put the first phase of his plan into motion. Step one, find a job of some sort. It didn't matter much what it was as long as it wasn't high profile. Step two, destroy the horcruxes after double checking they were all where he remembered them being. Voldemort hadn't noticed when Regulus stole the locket, so Harry assumed he wouldn't notice when they started disappearing.

The cup and the ring were the only horcruxes Harry could get at without worrying about other people seeing what he was doing, as all the others were surrounded by people and therefore inaccessible at the moment.

After he had destroyed the two free-standing horcruxes (placing both in a cave and casting Fiendfyre spells into it for good measure), Harry had to deal with the three that were surrounded by people—the locket, the diadem, and the diary.

He spent several of his weekends off from Honeydukes sitting across the street from Grimmauld in a tree under his invisibility cloak, staring at the house. There wasn't a Fidelus charm on it at the moment, as he could clearly see the house, but Mrs. Black didn't leave. Ever. Her husband and younger son were dead and her various detestable relatives always came to visit _her_ , never the other way around.

He wasn't sure what enchantments were on the door in this time, and while he could work them out if given time, that wasn't something he was going to have if she was still home.

Unless there was a way to aerosol sleeping potions? That could take both Mrs. Black and Kreacher out at once, if he played his cards right. But potions was still a weak point for Harry. He had gotten good at following the directions in the book, but experimental potions would never, ever been something he was good at. Unless a willing potioneer appeared out of the blue, it looked like he would have to at least wait for Mrs. Black to die before he tried anything. Kreacher himself would be easier to dispatch then the woman and would raise less of a ruckus.

Harry contemplated forcing Sirius into helping him somehow, but felt a bit squeamish about such a thing. That would be a last resort, followed probably by Sirius' death in order to protect delicate information.

The diary was in Lucius Malfoy's possession. Getting at it would require either sneaking into Malfoy Manor, which was a very bad idea, or having Malfoy hand it over to him after defeating Voldemort. There was also the possibility of having Malfoy take him to the chamber under the drawing room floor and destroying it there. There were dangerous flaws with that idea, too, Harry knew.

* * *

Ravenclaw's diadem was another issue. He had had to wait until the third week of September to sneak into Hogwarts through the tunnel from Honeydukes, where he now worked. Harry had crept along the wall to the Room of Requirement in his invisibility cloak and neatly filched the diadem from the Room of Hidden Things.

On the way back to the humpbacked witch, however, Mrs. Norris appeared in the hallway, idly walking down the hall and stopping to sniff at things periodically. It was probably the best idea to disable her. Swearing, Harry knelt and placed his wand flat on the ground. He tilted it up slightly with a finger, and sent a stunner at the cat. It missed and the cat leaped with a hiss as the spell cracked against the stone wall behind her. Harry froze and yellow eyes scanned the hallway as she prowled around. She stared at the spot he was kneeling on for a moment before turning back the way she had come. He knew he had precious few moments to get to the witch and he ran, turning down a hallway he hadn't intended to use. A few moments passed with no sign of Filch or Mrs. Norris. Cautiously, he crept back to the hallway and inched along the walls. No Filch.

Good.

Harry became more confident and moved faster, wanting out of the castle. Not fifteen feet from the witch, Filch appeared. _Shit._ Harry froze against the wall, not even daring to breathe. Filch looked along the walls as Mrs. Norris twined between his feet. He stopped for a long moment near where Harry hid, but eventually they passed, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

Harry laughed at himself has he made his way back up the tunnel. He had been scared of a _cat_.

* * *

August approached, and Harry had taken to watching Order members he knew of. They were apparently using the sad little cottage Remus had inherited from his parents in Essex as a base in this time and it didn't end up being very hard to follow them. Hiding was relatively easy and as long as he avoided Dumbledore himself, Harry wasn't too worried about being caught. The woods around the cottage were enough to hide in under his cloak and he kept the broom he had recently bought on hand as both an escape and surveillance method.

* * *

Halloween crept closer and closer and it was October 16th that Harry cornered Peter Pettigrew.

"Who are you?" the fat little man squeaked. Peter was panicking as he found himself being trapped in a wet London alleyway.

Harry silently advanced a few steps and Peter gave another squeak. He started hyperventilating as he backed up, "What do you _want_?" How did he get into Gryffindor? As if reading Harry's thoughts, Peter finally reached subtly for his wand, taking another couple stumbling steps backward. "I won't give you my money!"

"I just want to ask you a question," Harry said innocently. Peter looked very uncertain but remained silent, so he went on. "Which way to Surrey?"

The fat little man nearly laughed in relief, clearly thinking Harry was just a muggle. Peter seemed to forget he still had his hand on his wand. "You scared me! Go south and take the twenty to Fairfax."

Harry grinned at him. "Thanks. C _onfundus!_ " Harry nailed him with a spell and pulled out a scrap of paper and a plain muggle pen. " _Imperio!_ " he added, before handing Peter the paper and pen and the little rat scribbled down the Potters' address before handing it over. When Peter handed the paper back, Harry canceled the Imperius charm, fired another Confundus, and then carefully Obliviated him. Harry lead the rat to the mouth of the alley, hit him with a third Confundus and slipped on his invisibility cloak in the cover of darkness. After a moment, looking woozy, Peter shook his head, looked around with both worry and fear on his face, and walked away.

The day before Halloween, Harry managed to catch Peter again and forced him to give what little information he knew about the planned raid on the Potter household. Voldemort planned to arrive after nightfall on Halloween with a few Death Eaters, including Peter himself.

* * *

It was dusk on Halloween 1981 and Harry was currently lurking on his broom high above Godric's Hollow, having already prepared for the coming fight. He had rearranged the yard subtly earlier that day. The hedges which lined the winding walk up to the door were thicker and taller now, and whole plants had been shifted a little further in or a little further out.

Harry had been sitting up here for _hours_ and was getting both bored and stiff from the cold (invisibility cloaks were _thin_ ). Deciding that he should probably get some blood moving, he dived for the roof and cork-screwed up out of the plunge. He flew around for a bit and came to the conclusion that flying was not warm enough. He landed, deciding it would be a better idea to cast warming charms while on the ground.

He raised his wand to start the spell, and then cracks rippled through the air. Harry slipped around to the front of the house to see Death Eaters and Voldemort standing on the the other side of the gate.

Excellent.

Absently, Harry tapped the house, casting a lock-down charm on the building as he examined the group before him. There were eight figures—Voldemort, what Harry guessed was Peter, and six other black-robed people.

Harry had come to the conclusion in his many years of chasing, fighting, and killing Death Eaters that only displays of force impressed them ( _very_ un-Slytherin). So that was he was going to do. It was very simple, his plan. Kill Voldemort in the most violent way possible and win their fear.

He tilted his head, watching Voldemort move toward the front door of cottage like a hawk. Casting a silent Body-Bind at Peter, Harry flicked his wand and a ten-foot stone rod shot out of the ground under the Dark Lord. _Damn, missed,_ he thought as Voldemort yelled in surprise. Another flick. A strangled scream, which cut off mid-breath. _Got 'em._ He pulled off his cloak and stuffed it in his pocket as Voldemort twitched and oozed black ichor from his mouth, having been impaled vertically on the spine.

The mobile Death Eaters were shouting and looking around for the culprit, and Harry rained stunners on them. They fired back—usually with more deadly spells—but he had them at the advantage. He had the high ground, the first shot, and a hell of a lot more power then they had. Moreover, they had a very limited range of movement due to the three foot tall hedges and a narrow walk way. Eventually, feeling physically tired and having been grazed by a few spells, he had them all stunned.

With a sigh, Harry righted, bound, and envenerated them.

"This is hostile take-over. I've killed Voldemort and I'll kill you if you don't follow me." Harry said evenly. "So, what do you say?" he asked as he rapped the cloaked heads one by one. The spell relaxed just enough for them to speak.

"No!" snarled one of them.

Harry peered at the man and made a guess at who it was, based on hazy memories. "Predictable, Mr. Rookwood." He enjoyed the inevitable surprise and half-stifled gasps that followed. Damn lucky guess. In a manner most reminiscent of the late Lord Voldemort Harry held him under a Crucio, lazily watching Rookwood's head thrash back and forth, listening to him scream.

Harry let up on the curse. "May I draw your attention to the display to my left?" He gestured at the impaled Voldemort. The corpse looked shocked and agonized, oozing blood and Harry pointed at the pole sticking out of Voldemort's skull. "Would you like to join your Lord in the afterlife?" he asked, watching as the corpse slowly slid down the stake.

Several heads shook vigorously.

"Good. Will you join me?"

There were several ambivalent expressions of assent.

"Let me ask again." Harry met their eyes in turn before pulling away. "Will you follow me into glory? Will you help me lead the wizarding world into a new golden age?" Harry asked again, stalking around the immobile figures. "Will you be the first, my most trusted?"

Three heads nodded, "We will!" called one of them. The speaker sounded young.

"Very good." Harry made his way over to them and released them one at a time. With each person, he put the tip of his wand on the Dark Mark, asked them to do the same and incanted the same spell. Each time, a rearing, pale gray, winged deer with long and graceful horns would appear in place of the Mark. The spell made them wince, but only briefly.

"You will know when I call you and how to get to me," Harry said to his three new minions as he eyed his captives.

Rookwood opened his mouth, "Curse him you _fools_!" he hissed at the men and the woman at Harry's back.

They looked at Rookwood and each one of them stepped forward. "What can we do to serve, my lord?" asked the woman as they bowed.

"Levitate and re-bind this lot while I address some things, please. Then we'll be off, as I imagine the Headmaster will be here soon." Harry pulled out a pre-written note. With one swish of his wand, Harry relieved Peter of his jugular and kicked the body over as blood spurted. He pinned the note to the least bloody part of Peter's cloak, and left.

* * *

The Headmaster appeared in Godric's Hollow with a crack, expecting wreckage. Instead, he found a curse-scared house, a very dead Lord Voldemort, and a miscellaneous dead Death Eater on the the Potters' front lawn.

He paused to inspect the bloody mess that had been Lord Voldemort. A tall rod of stone had shot out of the lawn and apparently it caught the Dark Lord mid-step. Or perhaps jump, if the pole of pale stone two steps behind the corpse was any indication. The body slipped down the stake another few inches, and Voldemort's shoes hung about two feet off the ground. The soft patter of dripping blood sped up for a moment before slowing again.

There was a frantic pounding at the front door and Dumbledore started. He paused to examine the cottage for a moment before canceling the spell with a Finite _._ Both adult Potters came tumbling through the curse-scared front door before immediately leaping up.

" _Ohmygoddidyouseethe—!_ "

"James," Dumbledore said patiently, "slow down. Are you unharmed? Is Harry all right?"

Both Potters nodded, and Lily asked, looking wide-eyed, "What happened? Is everyone ok?"

"So far as I know, the rest of the Order is unharmed. As for what happened, we shall have to find out." Dumbledore paused, "Who was your secret keeper?"

"Peter," James said promptly.

"Not Sirius?"

"That was only an evasive tactic," Lily shook her head, "Peter was the keeper."

Dumbledore nodded, "It seems he betrayed you, then."

James looked ready to deny that his friend was a traitor, but Lily cut in. "Are the wards intact?"

The Headmaster nodded and James looked stunned for a moment before furiously denying it, "He was forced!"

Dumbledore gave James a sad look. "Who knew, besides the four of you?"

"No one," Lily said.

"He couldn't have!"

"Apparently, he could. I don't think Sirius would ever consider it—"

"And neither would Peter!"

They continued to argue as Dumbledore moved to pluck the note from the second body.

_Tell the Potters rats make bad secret keepers_

Carefully, he removed the mask from the corpse's face and tugged back the hood. Peter. "James," he cut through the man's impassioned defense of his friend, "come here, please."

The couple edged around the slipping remains of Voldemort and arrived at his side. Dumbledore looked at James, "I'm sorry, but it looks like he did betray you," he said gently.

The black-haired man huffed and shook his head, "The robes prove nothing!"

Lily looked sadly at the body. "Have you checked for the Mark yet?"

"Not yet," the Headmaster said. With a flick of his wand, the left sleeve of the robe crept back and a black tattoo of a skull and snake was slowly revealed.

The color in Jame's face drained. " _No."_

Lily looked exhausted. "Oh no..."

Dumbledore handed the note over to her.

She read it and paled. "Do you think that's a threat?"

"No. I don't think whoever wrote that means you any harm. I think he or she—"

"—He," James said. "From what we saw, it was a he."

"—He," Dumbledore amended, "sealed you in the house. He killed Voldemort before he could enter the house and left Peter here, too."

James and Lily both nodded, though James was still staring at the blood-splattered and terrified face of his late and former friend.

"Can you tell me what you saw?" Dumbledore asked gently.

There was a pause. Lily looked at her husband, "Why don't I take this? You go watch the baby, please."

Woodenly, James nodded and left.

* * *

With some amusement, Harry sauntered into Voldemort's former domain. His underlings and soon-to-be-underlings had been surprised that he had known where Voldemort had held camp. He had sent two of his crew ahead of them and kept one with him to guide him to the central planning room. Either his two were very good and cleared out most of the possible resistance or there were very few people in the manor.

Richard, as Harry had discovered his name was, swept open the door to what was apparently central command, wand at the ready. They found it empty, and Harry made his way to the head of a long, narrow, and ornately decorated table, dropping into the chair and canceling the levitation charm. The figures landed roughly on their feet and two toppled over.

"Richard, pick them up, would you?" he asked the young man. A few moments later, the other two of Harry's new-born army reappeared and helped Richard heave both captives upright.

Harry stood up and relaxed the body-binding spells again before returning to the head of the table. He perched on the arm and asked, "So, thought about my offer?"

Two of them chorused, "Yes!" and Harry smiled warmly. He changed their marks to match his chosen symbol and settled down again to stare at the remaining two resistors, Rookwood and Amycus Carrow.

"So, you're going to be stubborn, hm? All right then. We'll make use of you yet, though!" Harry chirped.

He turned to his attendants as they sat down. "I'm going to assimilate all of you into my own group. We need to decide when to show your former fellows that it's in their best interests to convert."

"The sooner, the better, my lord," said Richard from the seat to Harry's right.

The others rumbled in agreement.

Harry nodded and then the voice of a woman floated up from the far end of the company. "Please, my lord, what are we to call you?"

"'Ibex' will do, I think." he said after a moment, before going on. "I have one rule: do as I tell you. Do what I tell you, and you will be rewarded. Disobey me, and you will likely end up dead. Betray me, and I will break and bury you. Understand?"

Five heads nodded vigorously.

"Excellent."

* * *

A few hours later, the Death Eaters felt the call to assemble. When they answered it, they found themselves in the foyer to the great ballroom. A cloaked figure stood at the door.

"Wands in the cubby holes, please!" the man said as he pointed to a wall of cubbies. Each one bore a name plate. The man continued, "You and only you will be able to retrieve them."

There was some grumbling and muttering and one man called out, "Why does the Dark Lord want us to leave our _wands?"_

The first man stiffened. "Are you questioning our lord?" he asked dangerously.

"No!" the other looked panicked. "No! I'm not!"

"Then put your wand in your assigned cubby," the door guard snapped.

The crowd followed the order and slowly filtered out into the ball room, and the Lestranges, Lucius Malfoy, Severus Snape, and Alecto Carrow, were shown into a side room. The rest milled around in the ballroom, curiously observing the throne against the far wall and two Death Eaters, who were drifting in the drafts of the room, high above the floor.

Harry waited in the wings, draped in a black cloak, for just long enough to set the crowd of Death Eaters off balance. When he felt he had agitated them enough, he strolled idly into the room and up the pumice stair case to the obsidian throne Voldemort had favored. The cowl of the cloak disguised Harry's face as he sat on the ice cold stone.

"Good evening. I come bearing both bad and good news." Harry paused. "The bad news is Lord Voldemort is dead—" there was an uproar and Harry's five enforcers took a moment to subdue the cries of anger and anguish.

When all was silent again, he continued. "The good news is that a new—a stronger, greater—leader shall be taking the reigns." Another pause. "I am that leader. I am Ibex. Together, we shall forge a world that surpassed even the Dark Lord's greatest dreams! One that shall last ten thousand years! You, my brethren, will be looked upon with awe by the future—if, and only if—you join me. It shall be considered a great honor to be of your line, your stock, in the centuries to come—if, and only if—you join us. You will be titans among wizardkind, with power, status, and wealth—if, and only if—you join the Deluge. We will wipe this world clean to begin again! Join us, and be remembered by what you built for all time!"

People were sheep, Harry noticed once again as the crowd cheered. Five minutes of sweet talking and he had new minions. Promise them the moon, sound grand, and they'll race into your clutches.

"If you wish to be a titan, step forward!" he called.

A large crowd moved forward and Harry organized the conversion. A few explanations later, the horde had had their marks changed.

Moving to the throne again, Harry stared out at those who remained Death Eaters. This lot was probably more difficult to convert, relatively speaking, and would need a show of force.

"My friends, we must deal with a pair of resistors," Harry called the floating duo in front of the throne. "These two have set themselves against the forging of this new world. This cannot be tolerated." He stripped Rookwood and Carrow of their cloaks and masks after he Envenerated them.

"How shall I deal with them?" he asked his minions. "How should we handle those who resist our flood?"

His crowd jeered. "Kill them!" called one.

Calls to maim, mangle, and kill them continued for a long moment and Harry held up a hand for quiet.

He was silent for a long moment, staring at the hovering bodies. Both men looked dazed and hazy, though Rookwood looked closer to coherency. "As you wish," Harry inclined his head to the Deluge.

Carrow was returned to the floor and Richard stepped forward to lean the Death Eater against the steps before returning to his place near the dais. Harry lounged on the throne, staring at Rookwood, who floated some ten feet above the floor.

"You!" Rookwood bellowed, obviously now fully cognizant. "You killed the Dark Lord!"

"Yes," Harry agreed. "Survival of the fittest." With a flick, Rookwood was quickly flipped upside down. The man tried to keep his head level and nearly gave himself whip lash. "Step back," Harry called to the crowd of Death Eaters and Delugians. They obliged and soon a clear space before the throne opened up.

Harry pulled back the hood and stared at Rookwood again. "You stand in the way of progress. You stand in the way of the new world. This cannot be tolerated. This is your last chance to join the Deluge."

Rookwood snarled at him, defiant.

"Then there is no choice," Harry said with an easy shrug. He held out his wand and with a sharp downward slash, sliced the man open. With a second slash, he cut the skin along the ribcage, forming a v-shaped cut. Rookwood's guts slowly slid forward on the edge of his rib cage, leaning precariously out of the wound. With a wet splat, they tumbled to the floor, slapping against the screaming man as they fell. Blood rained to the floor, and Harry cast a stasis spell on him to keep him alive until he was damn well ready for Rookwood to die. He descended from the throne and circled slowly.

With a severing spell, Harry sliced off the length of intestine below his captive's head and Rookwood screamed again. Another spell was fired, slicing off the skin, slowly and in one piece; a spiral of hair and skin descended slowly from the body, coming to rest several feet below Rookwood's head. Blood streamed to the pool gathering below the man and Harry cast an Evanseco before continuing to watch the apple curl of skin lengthen. It finally slid completely free, leaving muscle, bone, and sinew exposed.

Harry flicked his wrist and the left Achilles tendon snapped. Another flick and the right one was cut. Rookwood screamed with renewed vigor as the tendon whipped through muscle.

He cast another spell and jerked his wand. A pulsing bundle erupted from Rookwood's mouth, flying forward and coming to rest at the gasping crowd's feet. It unfurled and delicate greyish branches opened up, squirting jets of blood. At the center of the glistening tree was a violently pulsating heart.

Expressionless, Harry canceled the stasis spell, and with a few final twitches, Rookwood died. He looked down at Carrow as he climbed the steps to the throne and dispelled the Bony Bind. He tilted his head to the side, staring at the terrified man as he stopped a few stairs above his victim.

"What to do with you? Ah." He cast a spell on Carrow, and for a moment nothing seemed to happen. Then a fine red liquid coated Carrow's skin and he began to choke. Blood erupted from his mouth with each sputter, ran from his nose, and oozed out of his ears. Tears of blood streaked down his face and Carrow's robes darked slowly. A pool of red oozed out from under him as he began to buck violently. With a gurgled scream, Carrow's body relaxed in death.

With a steely eyed stare, Harry surveyed the crowd. "Who will join the Deluge?"

There was a clamor and the other half of the crowd edged around the bodies to stand in the wings.

* * *

An hour later, Harry sent away all but fifteen men and women—his original five and ten more of the best and brightest.

"Richard, please lead Lucius Malfoy in, but tell him nothing," he called, pulling up his hood. The man bowed and obliged.

A few moments later, Malfoy appeared at the foot of the throne. "How my I serve, my lord?" he asked as he bowed deeply. Lucius was clearly trying to ignore Rookwood and Carrow, who still lay on the blood-slicked floor.

Harry smiled slightly under his hood. "Kneel, Lucius."

Malfoy started at the unfamiliar voice but quickly knelt at the foot of the dais, assuming that Voldemort had undergone yet another obscure ritual, this one having changed his voice as a side effect.

Harry remained silent for a while, enjoying the increasing level of anxiety he was provoking in the Death Eater. He broke the silence, "Lord Voldemort has expired." Malfoy's head shot up and he started to rise. Harry went on, "I am offering you a place in my ranks. I suggest you take it."

Lucius, who had mostly risen, sank back down into a kneeling position. Voldemort was dead. There was no other way the man could be sitting in the throne with Yaxely lounging against a wall so nearby. This man stank of power and magic, and it was always best to be on the good side of such men. Lucius was also very aware of the two dead bodies at his back; he could guess what had happened and he _did_ have a toddler at home.

So he smiled up at the man on the throne, "How may I address you, my lord?"

Harry was pleased. "As Ibex. You may rise," he said. As he descended the stairs, he added, "Roll up your left sleeve, please."

Malfoy pulled it back, baring the ugly black snake and skull, and Harry replaced it with the pale rearing deer. Harry hadn't failed to notice how long it had taken Malfoy to answer and he almost openly smirked. There was a charm woven into the incantation that marked a Delugian that made them more suggestible to his orders or suggestions, and to his alone. Still, he would kill Lucius if he felt in necessary.

"Malfoy, please retrieve Snape." The blond slipped away to retrieve the potions master and Harry lounged lazily in his chair, legs thrown over one arm.

The black haired man followed Malfoy in and stilled when he saw Harry sitting on Voldemort's throne. Voldemort had always given off an air of dignified danger, but the air around the figure on the throne buzzed with indolent, luxurious power.

"Severus _Snape,"_ Harry drawled as Lucius herded Snape toward the the dais. "I have an opportunity for you."

"Yes, my lord?" Snape was unsure of how to respond to the man on the throne. Part of him didn't believe it was Voldemort sitting on the throne, but the other part didn't see who else it could be.

"It will be quite worth your while. The Dark Lord has passed from this earth."

Snape's face only showed shock for a fleeting moment before smoothing out again. "I see," he said neutrally.

"I'm offering you a position in my ranks," Harry said.

Snape looked at him carefully. "May I have some time to think it over?"

Ah, he's going to ask Dumbledore about it. "If you wish. Please have an answer in the next hour. Richard, Anesidora, Yaxely, please escort Mr. Snape to the the third floor meeting room. Bring him back when that time has elapsed."

The three lead the fourth away, and Harry asked Nott, "Would you please bring Bellatrix Lestrange in?"

It wasn't very long before she entered the room and knelt that the bottom of the platform. "My lord," she asked breathlessly, looking adoringly up at him, "was the raid a success?"

Mildly disgusted by her slavishness, Harry didn't answer and simply killed her. As she toppled over with a look of surprise on her face, he examined his finger nails, "Give your wife my condolences, Lucius." The blond looked stunned, though not sad. "Zabini, please bring me the files, if we have any, on the Order of the Phoenix."

"Yes, my lord," the man bowed and hurried off.

"Tillman?" Harry called, "Kindly remove Carrow and Bellatrix. Leave Rookwood."

One of the figures nodded and strode around the dais to the bodies. Being one of the original five, he still had his wand and he pulled it out. And then paused. "My lord?" he asked hesitantly, "what do I do with them?"

"Carrow, you can dispose of how you like. Lestrange is to be kept in one piece and unmarred. Put her body in another room, please."

Tillman nodded and dealt with Carrow first. He waved his wand and the man's body dissolved into a pile of soft white ash. An Evanesco took care of the remaining mess. He levitated Bellatrix's body out the room.

"Lucius?" Harry called.

The blond looked up, uncertainty coloring his expression, "My lord?"

"Two things. First, understand that what I did to your sister-in-law is not my usual order of business. Unless you disobey or betray me, you will not likely die in my service. You may wish to tell your wife Bellatrix finally irritated the Dark Lord enough he killed her before the raid. Secondly, I want you to retrieve Alecto."

Lucius nodded and disappeared. Zabini returned with an armload of scrolls as Lucius left the room.

"My lord, these are all the files we have on the Order," he said as he placed them on a stair step.

"Excellent. Thank you, Zabini," he said as Lucius lead Alecto Carrow into the ball room. She looked with idle curiosity at the still hovering body of Augustus Rookwood as she made her way to the throne.

"My lord," she bowed when she reached the dais. Harry remained silent, and she looked up at him uncertainly for a moment before looking down again.

He pulled out his wand and sent a green curse at her. She slumped forward in death.

"Tillman, please dispose of her."

Another puff of soft, white ash tumbled across the floor.

"Good," Harry smiled. "That should be the last of the must-kills. Everyone else shall have a proper chance."

Moments later, the Lestrange brothers were lead across the floor and took little convincing to give their allegiances to him.

"Rudolphus, you weren't too attached to your wife, were you?" Harry asked as he descended the stairs.

The smaller of the two men turned to look up at Harry. "No, my lord," he said curiously, tucking a strand of black hair back behind his mask. "Did something happen to her?"

"I killed her," Harry said matter-of-factly as he strode towards Rudolphus.

"Oh." Apparently they did not have much, if anything, of a relationship if his lack of reaction was anything to go by. She had probably spent most of their marriage pining after Voldemort.

"Yes," Harry nodded. "I have plans for her body, if you don't have any objections."

"No, I don't. Do as you wish with it, Lord Ibex." He bowed.

Harry nodded. "Last thing. Give me the name of a house elf. Doesn't matter which one."

"Ankles," Rudolphus said after a moment.

Harry raised an eyebrow, "Ankles?"

Rudolphus nodded.

"Hm, well, thank you." Harry made his way back to the dais and called for the elf.

With a crack, it appeared in front of Harry on the floor. He was tall for an elf, with bulgy blue eyes and pale floppy ears, swathed in a blue and white towel.

"How can Ankles be of help to you, sir?"

Dolohov stepped forward. "You will address him as Lord Ibex!" he yelled at his elf.

"Peace, Antonin. He didn't know." Harry looked back at the cowering creature. "How many of you are there?"

"Five! There is being f-f-five of us, L-l-ord Ibex!" Ankles stuttered.

"Relax," Harry encouraged the elf. "Which one of you hates Nagini the most?"

"None of if h-hating her, sir!"

Harry rather doubted this. In his old timeline, Nagini had eaten four consecutive Malfoy elves and terrorized them all as much as she could beforehand. "You won't get in trouble if you hate her. Now, tell me who hates Nagini the most," he ordered.

The elf seemed to be struggling with himself in his desire to protect his fellows. "Tiddles does, sir!" the elf burst finally.

"Excellent. Tiddles!" Harry called.

Another elf appeared, this one short and stumpy. "What can Tiddles be doing for you, sir?" she asked, eying Ankles' apologetic expression.

"Tell me, do you hate Nagini?"

She paused, "Yes. Tiddles is hating Nagini." Tiddles sounded uncertain as to where this would lead.

"Good. Kill her. I would drop on her back and stab her where her head meets the spine with a knife. Or, alternately, you could freeze her room and send her into a torpor, and _then_ kill her. However you do it, I want her dead. Feel free to enlist help and get creative. You have one week to do it."

The elf nodded. "Anything further, sir?"

"No. You and Ankles may go."

With twin cracks, they were gone.

* * *

Snape was lead back into the room before very long, his face a mask.

"Have you decided?" Harry asked him, twirling his wand as he sat on the throne.

The black haired man nodded. "I will join."

"Excellent."

Snape's mark was changed and, returning to the throne, Harry pulled back his hood and let it fall against his back. He very much enjoyed the growing look of horror on Snape's face.

Harry's face was now narrower, more sharp than James' smiling face, and he was shorter then his father had been. A hundred years and immortality had rearranged his features some, but he still resembled James Potter enough to infuriate Snape.

The resemblance was not lost on the rest of the Delugians, either. Malfoy, especially, looked fit to burst with questions.

Harry chuckled, "I believe you have a question, Lucius?"

"Ah, no, my lord," he back pedaled.

"Come on," Harry cajoled. "I know you want to ask me things."

Lucius hesitated.

"Go ahead," Harry encouraged. "What's the worst that could happen?"

Lucius looked like he had a good idea what the worst could be, but, after a long silence, he said, "You look very familiar, my lord."

Harry nodded, unable to keep a small, toothy smile from showing. "I bet."

Lucius swallowed. "Did you attend Hogwarts?"

"Yes," Harry nodded. "Want to know what house?" he asked. "Gryffindor."

Snape looked ready to faint.

"But I didn't graduate with any of you, of course. Different year entirely."

* * *

Severus Snape arrived back at Hogwarts well into the wee hours of the morning and the first thing he said when he barged into Dumbledore's office was, "I hate Ibex."

"Is that his name for himself?" asked Dumbledore, curious as to why anyone would name themselves after a type of mountain goat.

Severus nodded.

Still better than "flight of death," Dumbledore supposed.

"Is he as bad as Voldemort was?"

Severus paused, "When I was called into the ballroom, Amycus Carrow's body was on the floor, covered in blood from head to toe. No obvious wounds. However, there were the remains of a body hovering above the floor, all the skin, muscle, and quite a number of its internal organs on the floor. Apparently, he also killed Bellatrix and Alecto, though just with the Killing curse."

Dumbledore nodded with a sigh. "Did he outline his plans?"

"Nothing specific. Just the usual grandstanding." Severus rolled his eyes. "He changed our marks—I don't know how, but he did." Severus rolled up his left sleeve, and a slender winged ibex with long, graceful horns reared in place of the snake and skull. Black for grey. Hm.

"Did he mention anything about the Potters?" the Headmaster asked, examining the tattoo.

Severus grunted. "No. But he looks like Potter. Almost his clone!"

Dumbledore fixed him with a sharp gaze, "What?"

"I said, he looks very much like James Potter! Shorter, thinner, sharper, older, but still essentially Potter. He was even a Gryffindor!"

Dumbledore looked startled. "May I see a memory?"


	2. Gold and Discoveries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics not associated with a quote are a dream.

_"Leadership is a word and a concept that has been more argued than almost any other I know. I am not one of the desk-pounding types that likes to stick out his jaw and look like he is bossing the show. I would far rather get behind and, recognizing the frailties and the requirements of human nature, would rather try to persuade a man to go along, because once I have persuaded him, he will stick. If I scare him, he will stay just as long as he is scared, and then he is gone."—_ Dwight David Eisenhower

* * *

_A breeze rustled overhead, bringing the smell of dry earth drifting down into the hole Harry was digging. It picked up, becoming louder and louder, now howling over the hole._

" _Harry," a female voice carried down to him, "I think there's a sand storm coming. We should go. Don't forget to spell a marker this time!" Hermione's bushy head appeared over the rim of earth, blocking the sun from Harry's face_

_Harry rolled his eyes, "I won't forget! I don't want to spend another week wandering around the desert, dodging gun-toting muggles, IEDs, and tank convoys trying to find this place again." He picked up the shovel and used it to hoist himself out of the earth. Harry sat on the edge of the hole for a moment, rubbing one dirty, callused hand through his hair, and looked to the west. Sure enough, there was a dirty brown smudge on the horizon. He stared at it for a moment, and it loomed higher._

" _Come on, let's get going!" Hermione snapped irritably at him as she collapsed their tent. "It's coming fast and—you're—not—moving—!" She glared at him from under her blue baseball cap._

 _Harry rolled his eyes again and took out his wand,"_ Hallazgo! _" A green lightening bolt struck the hole from the hazy blue sky. Blue spell plasma surged up the walls of the hole and ruffled the frayed cuffs of Harry's jeans as he stood at the edge of the earth._

_He and Hermione picked up a large wooden frame covered with a drab brown cloth and placed it in grooves in the earth, which had been made for this purpose. They covered it in sand, cast a notice-me-not charm over it, and added a muggle repelling spell, just in case. The last thing they needed was a tank crushing the frame accidentally and getting stuck in the large hole beneath it._

_There was no warning—the roaring sand storm was suddenly on top of them, choking them, tearing into their skin, whipping their clothes relentlessly. The sand shifted, becoming a million tiny dementors that swarmed over their flesh, leaving slimy tracks of ice behind, and nibbling with cold teeth on their souls. With an agonized cry, Harry reached for Hermione's arm, her shoulder, anything that was_ her. _Then the storm of dementors disappeared without a trace, leaving Harry standing in the barren and hazy desert, alone._

" _Hermione?"_

Harry jerked awake, coated in a cold sweat. Afternoon light crept into his bedroom through his curtains and he sighed, dropping back against his pillows. The sand storm had happened some seventy five years ago. He and Hermione had lost each other for three weeks in the desert, which had scared the living daylights out of both of them. The war had just ended and so many had died—Ron, the twins, Charlie, Fleur, Molly, Ginny, Tonks, Moody, Remus...the list went on.

In the end, the magical population of the UK had been nearly wiped out. Of the Order, only Harry, Hermione, Arthur, Bill, Shacklebolt, and McGonagall had survived. Only Arthur and McGonagall stayed in England— everyone else scattered to the the four winds before the dust had settled on the last battlefield and the last ember has flickered out in the gutted Ministry ruins.

Harry and Hermione had run into Bill in Cairo a few weeks before the sand storm that separated them and there had been no choice but to acknowledge him. It had been awkward for both sides and they had gone for a coffee, but within an hour, with half hearted smiles and insincere promises to owl each other, they had parted ways.

Arthur owled them several years later to tell them Bill had died on the job and would be buried next to Fleur and the rest of the Weasleys in Ottery-St. Catchpole. Harry and Hermione had attended the funeral as expected and it had been a difficult event. Percy, Kingsley, Hestia, a graying Arthur, and a few others came, too, and it had been unpleasant, with stilted conversation and truly meant condolences. Though none of them knew Bill anymore—not even Arthur or Percy.

Harry ran his hands through his hair and got out of bed, heading for the shower. He could almost feel the sand and slime trails on his skin and needed desperately to get rid of the sensation.

* * *

The evening of November first found Harry at Dolohov's manor, riffling through the Order's files as he searched for Sirius's address. He wasn't entirely sure why he was going to do this, other than an obscure need for revenge (it also explained why he was _itching_ for an opportunity to kill Greyback). Bellatrix had died before either Harry or Neville could get to her, accidentally felled by friendly fire in the same battle that killed Remus and Fleur.

He eventually found it, and discovered that Sirius was currently living in a London row house on the West End. Harry needed to know if there was a yard attached on either side of the house and so apparated to the area.

Landing in an alley a block away, he walked through a relatively quite neighborhood to Sirius's home. The house was fairly nice, if painted in red, white, and a painfully tacky yellow. There was also a very small yard in the front, edged with tall bushes and fenced in by black iron railing. Harry looked over the gate and found a small walkway had been shoveled clear of snow. He eyed it, a few interesting scenarios playing out in his head.

* * *

Sirius Black hated his cousin, Bellatrix. When he was little, she would spit on him and steal his broom and his mother never stopped it. Bellatrix had been _twelve_ to Sirius's six and she had her own broom, which was much nicer then his toy one.

Time hadn't improved their relationship. They hadn't spoken since he had run away from home five years ago and apparently would never speak again, since her corpse was currently occupying his front walk.

" _Shit_ ," Sirius muttered, garnering a dirty look from a passing old lady. He glared back at her before he opened the gate and walked up to the body to study it. On Bella's stomach lay an envelope with his name written on it in glittering black ink.

 _Definitely_ time to call the Headmaster.

* * *

Dumbledore was bewildered by this new Lord Ibex. He avoided killing the Potters, left their betrayer's body behind, viciously murdered a few of his followers, and deposited Sirius's least favorite cousin on his lawn. He was a threat, but Dumbledore didn't know enough yet to deal with him effectively. The letter Sirius had received along with the body was odd and vaguely menacing.

_Mr. Black,_

_I think we missed your birthday, so happy early Christmas from Rudolphus and me._

_Ibex_

* * *

* * *

Harry gathered his best and brightest together at Dolohov's manor on the third of November.

" _Sev_ erus," Harry drawled, knowing it irked the man, "I have a special assignment for you. I need to you to brew me a special sleeping potion."

Snape nodded. "Are there any specifics you need for it?"

"It should go from potion to gas when the phial is broken or if it otherwise exposed to air, and ideally, it should be short-acting with a confounding after-effect. The skin cannot act as a method of delivery," he paused as he thought, "and lastly, it must be applicable but non-lethal to house elves. The sooner this is done, the better."

Snape nodded, "Understood."

Harry turned to look down the table. "Lucius?"

"Yes, my lord?" Malfoy asked him.

"There is something in your care that I require. It's in that little chamber beneath your drawing room floor."

Lucius paued, wondering how Ibex knew about the room under the drawing room floor. "I-is it, my lord? What is it so that I may fetch it?"

Harry smiled, "Ah ah, Lucius," he waved a finger at the man. "You'll take me to your home and I shall get it myself. Tonight, preferably, and then a few of you will be accompanying me out of the country." He smiled coolly, "We shan't be gone long, so never you worry. Yaxely, Tillman, Ansiedora, Malfoy, you'll be coming along with me. Pack for snow and wind. Richard, you, Dolohov, and the Lestranges will be responsible while I'm gone. We'll be away for a few days. Now," Harry went on, "is there anything that needs our intervention?"

Lucius nodded, "There's word from the Wizengamot that several pro-werewolf laws—regarding employment opportunities, ministry-funded health care provision for after the full moon and the like—are in the works."

"Good. Help them get passed."

The others stared at him and Harry rolled his eyes, "Think about it this way. We need to create as much good will as possible and we need to help society bloom to its fullest in order to create the world we want. Part of that means preventing the spread of lycanthropy and the best way to do that is to provide social programs to ensure they can take care of themselves. The fewer werewolves, the better."

Rodolphus looked at him curiously, "If I may ask, my lord, why not just kill them all to prevent the spread?"

"Because wanton killing creates both fear and ill-will. I want our eventual take over to be as smooth as possible and the way to do that is create good will. We will create the appropriate fear later. In the mean time, the better the werewolves are treated, the more likely they'll side with us in the long run, since _we_ created and enabled the program. There's certainly enough werewolves to be worth the effort, and bringing them to our side will make our eventual coup much easier."

The Delugians nodded, silent, either absorbing the idea or figuring out ways around it.

* * *

A few hours later, Harry entered Malfoy Manor with several Delugians behind him. He had forgotten exactly how _enormous_ the manor was, all white marble floors and glowering portraits. The last time he had been to the Manor, he had been a prisoner here during the war in his old time line. This foyer was where Ron had been messily murdered, Harry remembered. There had been a smear of gore across the carpet and expensive Persian carpets, the only indication of it being Ron had been the half of a head resting, glassy eyed, in the corner.

Shaking off the memory, Harry followed Lucius down the halls and up the stairs to his drawing room, annoyed with himself for letting the old dream affect him _now_ —several hours later and indirectly by calling up memories. Reaching the cream and brown drawing room, he watched as Lucius tapped a sequence of floor boards. A small square appeared in the floor and he tapped it. The wood slid back, revealing a gold ladder.

"Would you like me to retrieve the item?" Lucius asked.

Harry smiled and shook his head. "No, thank you. I shall fetch it myself," he said as he stepped on the ladder. He was halfway down the golden rungs when he heard, _"Avadra Kevadra!"_ and a blast of green light collided with the top of his head.

* * *

There was a crash, and Lucius looked up at the other man with shock, "You killed him!"

Agrius Yaxley grinned, looking even more unpleasant than usual. "I intend to lead us in the right direction, none of this—"

A jet of orange light shot out of the dark hole. Yaxley toppled sideways and landed with a thud on the floor. There was a clatter as Harry climbed out of the room beneath the floor.

He looked irritated. "Don't _do_ that!" he snarled at the shocked room, glaring at them before disappearing again. There was a some angry muttering, a "eureka!" and Harry clambered back out of the room with a small book in hand. He tucked it away in the folds of his robe and looked down at the bound Yaxley, running a hand through his bloody hair. Harry winced slightly at the rapidly healing cut that had been opened by the curse on the top of his head. He wondered if it would have the same shape as the one on his forehead as he cast a cleaning charm on his scalp. Would it scar at all?

Harry squatted down next to the figure and propped his chin up on one palm, examining the man at his feet. He looked up at Lucius. "Is there an empty room nearby?"

The stupefied blond nodded.

"Excellent. Lead the way," Harry said as he gestured for Snape to levitate the body.

Lucius lead them down the hall to an empty room with a marble floor. With a flick, Harry sent the carpets and sparse furniture to the walls and turned to his Delugians.

"Snape, drop him wherever," Harry said dismissively. "Lucius, call an elf."

Lucius did as he was bid, and the answering else was Dobby, who was exactly like Harry remembered him being in second year; scared, anxious, and cowering.

"Elf," Harry said to Dobby, "I have a question for you."

Dobby looked to Lucius for guidance on how to respond to Harry, and Lucius nodded. "W-w-what can Dobby be doing for yous, sir?"

"Is the floor in this room sealed? Or waxed?"

Dobby blinked, "It is being both, sir. Polished to a seal and waxed for shine."

"Excellent. Thank you, Dobby," Harry nodded to the uncertain elf.

"Is there anything else Dobby can being doing?" he asked.

Harry shook his head. "No Dobby, thank you." The elf bowed, taking it as a dismissal, and disappeared with a crack.

Everyone in the room looked at Harry, confused and surprised.

"What?" Harry asked. "I like elves. Helpful little fellows and loyal to the bone if you're good to them." This was met with silence and Harry rolled his eyes. " _Accio_ Yaxley," Harry sighed, not bothering to look to see where Snape had dropped the man.

Harry neatly sidestepped the body as it came sliding towards him from a distant corner. He looked down at Yaxley, "I suppose you didn't _know_ that I'm immortal. After all, I didn't tell anyone." He paused and tilted his head back and forth, thinking. "Hm. Lucius, please fetch me some golden chain oil, if you have it. If not, an angel's trumpet infusion or doll's eye elixir will do."

Malfoy called Dobby again, and pulled him into a corner to whisper his orders.

In the mean time, Harry set about freezing Yaxley's fingers one by one, watching the man's eyes roll madly in his head as his breath sped up.

A little later, Dobby appeared, bearing a large glass bottle filled to the brim with a golden oil.

"Ah, excellent. You _do_ have Golden Chain." Harry cast a wicked grin at Lucius. Accepting the bottle from the elf, Harry fished the diary out of his robes and dropped it on Yaxley's chest.

"You attempted to betray me, Yaxley. I made it clear—or so I thought—that betrayal is punished most severely," Harry said as he doused both the man and book with liquid, knowing that golden chain severely burned the skin. "All right, everyone to the walls," Harry called.

When all the Delugians had complied, he settled himself comfortably in a chair near the open door and flicked a minuscule ball of liquid flame at the diary. It landed with a puff, hissed, and then exploded upward in a ball of bright fire, mushrooming towards the high ceiling. Harry watched calmly as the tongues of flame tickled the ceiling, blinked when the rush of hot air that accompanied the explosion ruffled his hair, and ignored the high pitched wails of man and book that echoed through the room.

Still sitting, Harry looked at the shaken men and women in the room, and called the quaking house elf out of the corner behind Lucius.

"Dobby, do you think you can clean this up?" Harry asked him gently.

Staring at the black star of soot on the floor and the flickering embers, the elf nodded, "Dobby thinks he can, sir."

"Excellent. Snape," he called, knowing the black-haired man would be desperate to report this to Dumbledore, "I'd like you to get started on that potion, please."

* * *

" _What do you_ mean _, he's immortal?_ " Sirius Black shrieked.

Severus Snape resisted the ever-increasing desire to hex Black senseless and gooey. "I _said,_ he survived a Killing Curse. As in, it hit him, he fell off the ladder, got back up, and hexed Yaxley before going back down."

Dumbledore looked grave. "This does not bode well."

"You think?" Sirius asked snidely. "We can't even kill the bastard!"

"So far," Remus pointed out, "He hasn't actually hurt any of _us._ Only Death Eaters and Delugians, or whatever they're called."

"Delugians," Snape confirmed. "Merlin knows why he picked that name, but we're 'The Deluge.'"

"Indeed," agreed Dumbledore, wondering where he had heard the phrase before. "Has he mentioned the Order at all?"

"Other than asking for the files—apparently to find your address, Black—he's ignored the Order. I don't think he's aware of my double agent status, but I could be wrong." Severus shook his head, "He has a freakish way of knowing things he shouldn't already know, so it's possible he's aware that I am an Order member."

"I expect you'll be extra careful, then?" McGonagall asked earnestly from her end of the table.

"I'm _always_ careful." snapped Snape. Dumbledore cast him a look and Snape ignored it. "Ibex is going about things in a totally different way then the Dark Lord ever considered doing. He's ordered us to avoid 'wanton killings' and to help institute what he calls social programs—the current one specifically dealing with the werewolves."

"I bet Malfoy doesn't like that," James commented, cradling his cooing son.

"No," agreed Snape, supposing the child was there for the lack of someone to care for it, since Lily was here as well. "But he's not going to cross Ibex, especially after watching him destroy Agrius Yaxley. His son, Draco, is the same age as your brat, Potter and he doesn't want to die any more than you do."

Dumbledore gave Snape a look that said _you're pushing it_ and asked, "Do you think he will come after the Order?"

Severus shrugged. "I can't even guess at what he's going to do—there's no consistency, no predictability, to his actions. He's nice to house elves, orders Lucius around, ordered us to support werewolf rights, and murdered six people in two days. He made Yaxley _explode_ tonight," Snape said. "But he's going to be out of the country for a while—he didn't say exactly when he was coming back, but I would predict a week or so."

"Who did he put in charge?" James asked.

"The Lestrange brothers, Dolohov, and a younger recruit, named Richard, I think."

Sirius raised an eyebrow at Snape, "The Lestranges? He killed Bellatrix—does he really think he holds that much sway over them?"

Snape shrugged again. "Rudolphus doesn't seem to be mourning at all, and he and Rabastan seem loyal to Ibex already. I don't think I can de-construct anything in just a week." Severus seemed to pause, staring at the wooden table, "I need to get working on a project he set me, actually. He'll want it by the time he gets back." He looked at Dumbledore. "Is there anything else, Headmaster?"

"On last thing, yes," Dumbledore nodded. "Did you discover his name—"

"—Is he a Potter?" James cut in, not noticing Dumbledore's annoyed expression.

Snape sneered at him. "I don't know if he's a Potter. He certainly doesn't seem like it, though, Gryffindor or not."

The three remaining Marauders all squeaked.

"A Griffyndor _?"_ Remus squawked, _"_ he was a _Gryffindor?_ "

Snape looked contemptuously at him. "Rest assured, Lupin, he did not graduate with your _illustrious_ class."

* * *

Harry hadn't liked this last time he'd done it either but the second time around, finding the old ruins of the temple library was much easier. He knew the general location, so all he had to do was triangulate the location in this time frame for it. It had no definitive markers, having succumbed to the desert sands three thousand years ago but finding it only took four days—far less time than it had taken the last time, though no less frustrating.

However, the look of pure fear and loathing on Lucius' face when he was chased by an extremely large and translucent spider almost made up for it all. The girlish screams of terror and the dull _thud_ of Malfoy falling over in the sand were incredibly entertaining.

Ansiedora grinned at him as she squashed the offending spider with one dainty black boot. "Manly, Lucius," she said, tossing long auburn hair over her shoulder as she ground the spider into pale sand. "Your wife must positively _swoon_ every time you walk into the room."

He snarled at her. "Shut up!"

"Remind me, Malfoy, _exactly_ how old are you?" she asked sweetly, "because I could have sworn I was told your _fifth_ birthday is coming up soon!"

"Girls, girls," Harry chided patronizingly as Lucius opened his mouth to retort, "No fighting."

Tillman snickered as Lucius and Ansiedora glared at each other, and Harry looked at the three of them with amusement from the edge of the hole. He blinked. "Oi! Why am I the only one digging? Get in here! We're looking for a black chest with a horned snake lock. It should be about as long as your arm."

The others immediately jumped into the hole and began to dig, using their wands to shear earth away from the walls and banish it.

The hole had gotten considerably larger by the time it was finally found. With an "aha!" Ansiedora gave a mighty heave, and a large black chest came sliding out of the wall. Looking hopeful, Harry pushed his way to the box and turned it around, spelling it clean.

The lock on the chest was the open mouth of a horned snake, the lock itself resting between two pairs of very large fangs, while the body of the snake curled around the lid. On the top of the lid was a woman. She had a sultry look on her face and her lower body was obscured by a crescent moon. Her head was surrounded by a nimbus of stars.

"Excellent, Ansiedora," Harry grinned before murmuring a spell. The bronze lock opened with a gritty pop and he carefully pried the lid open just enough to peek inside. "Most excellent," he said to her again as he shrank the box.

The four of them climbed out of the hole and dusted off, Lucius looking pained as he shook dirt out of his hair. Harry eyed Lucius' grimace calmly, "We've done well today—very well. Let's head back to the inn for the rest of the day."

There were several grateful sighs.

The next day, Harry warned them to dress warmly as it was going to be _very_ cold where they were going. The four of them portkeyed to a hostel in the mountains they would be staying in, and after dropping their things off, they were side along apparated to the ruin of a city in the mountains. Iron grey clouds loomed over the buildings and a wind howled through the lonely stone pillars. They stood on a snow-covered grey marble floor near buildings that had been carved out of the hillside.

Harry wished he had reviewed the sections of Hermione's notes about locations more closely as he searched the room carved into the mountainside. He hummed, and strode up and down the walkway, examining archways and door posts. He hummed again, and slipped into one of the buildings, past a particular pair of winged, man-headed lions that guarded the entrance. The Delugians followed him in and just as Tillman was crossing the threshold, Harry shouted, "Stop! Back up!"

Tillman stepped back over the threshold, bumping into Lucius and Ansiedora in the process. They caught him by the shoulders as he teetered precariously, nearly falling on to the dust clouded tiles.

Harry shook his head and went back to carefully making his way across the room, hopping from tile to tile in a seemingly random pattern. Left, center, hop twice on the round tile, hold! two-three-four, hop to the third one down on the right side...

Finally, he reached a stone dais and moved across it, stopping before an enormous, elaborate lotus flower carved into the stone, which sat below a man sitting on an eagle-winged disc. Harry tapped the pistols of the flower and stretched up to draw a shape on the center of the disc.

A handle appeared on the right side of the center flower petal and after saying a long, strange sounding incantation, Harry opened it and stepped through. A few moments later, there was a roar that rapidly turned into piercing, blood-curdling scream and a spray of gore as a huge chunk of flesh flew out of the petal door, skidding across the platform and falling off it with the scrape of bone against marble. There was a snarl and then a crunch. The snarling stopped abruptly.

The three Delugians waited with baited breath as the minutes ticked by and the soft whimpering of something large echoed out of the chamber. There was another ear-piercing screech, a wet splat, and a blood soaked Harry reappeared with a series of scrolls under his arm. He closed the flower chamber door, stepped down onto the slab of flesh in front of the door and made it glide across the floor, climbing down when it reached the doorway.

"Come on," Harry said as he slipped past them, leaving bloody foot prints behind. "We have two more stops. One's nearby and then we can return to the hostel for the night."

In short order, Harry dragged the others to another ice-cold mountainside. As soon as they stepped on to the white limestone steps that lead down to a cave, a wall of roaring fire appeared before them and the wind whipped up behind them, forcing them towards the fire at the foot of the stairs.

"The spell," Harry yelled over the roar of the flames as they crouched against a wall, "is ' _Agua primal_.' The motion is the same as windgardium leviosa, but direct the water at the foot of the flame! Ansiedora, Lucius, that's your task." Harry was sincerely wishing he had covered this before setting foot on the stairs. "Tillman, use as many shielding charms as you can possibly manage against the wind. I'll be out as quick as I can. Ready?" he asked, hoarse from yelling.

"Yes!" All three yelled back

Harry held up a hand, counting down from three. _"Go!"_

Ansiedora and Lucius kept the wall of flame on the run, attempting to spray every lick of flame. With each sweep of water, the fire rallied back, struggling to keep the wall solid. Tillman bellowed a shield charm and the wind abated, allowing Harry to race through a small break in the wall of flame, the heat beating against his skin as he ran between the walls. He continued to run through the cave, heedless of the puddles on the slick cave floor, icy water splashing up with each stumbling foot fall. He held his wand aloft as the light from the fire behind him dimmed, stopping just long enough to search the white rocks for the stone table he _knew_ was there. Fuck it, there wasn't _time_ for this!

" _Accio_ scrolls!" Several scrolls of parchment flew towards him out of the dark and he caught as many as he could, stooping to pick up the rest. Harry shrank and stuffed them in his cloak before racing back to the surface as he zigzagged around stalactites. With his own bellowed _"Agua Primal!"_ Harry raced through the gap it provided and yanked Lucius and Ansiedora towards the bottom of the staircase. "Cast a Protego! On three!" Harry pulled a sagging Tillamn towards himself, as they counted down and, as one, bellowed,

" _PROTEGO!"_

An emerald green shield popped into existence long enough for them to escape the staircase, stumbling to a stop a few feet away.

The moment the last foot left the last stair, the wind and fire disappeared, as if they'd never been there in the first place.

"Thank Merlin," Harry sighed.

* * *

They rested for two days after the cave, all of them very, very tired. The final stop, in comparison to flying chunks of meat and sentient walls of fire, was anti-climatic. Not that this was a problem, of course.

They arrived in a foggy valley bottom in what Ansiedora thought might be Cork, where they were required to confound a muggle security system while Harry raided a little museum that stood near an old monastery.

It was past midnight when they approached the building, forcing Harry to actually consider how best to approach the issue of security systems. The ones he and Hermione had dealt with in the early two thousands had been considerably more advanced then what little he knew of alarms and cameras in 1981. Harry didn't have any idea what would and wouldn't work.

Tillman was apparently a half-blood and knew a little about how current security systems worked. Enough, anyway, to short circuit the cameras with one jabbed spell. He circled the building, seemed to come to a conclusion, and used a tree close to the museum to reach the roof. A halo of spell plasma sparked down the sides of the building, and Tillman stuck his head over the side of the roof. "All clear," he said in a stage whisper.

Harry unlocked the door and slipped into the dark, creeping past the displays. Reaching the center of the room, he lit his wand and searched the displays.

He was looking for a book made of vellum about the size of his hand. He didn't see in the in main displays, so he walked past the velvet ropes and glass display boxes to the back, making for the curator's office.

Harry riffled through drawers and cabinets, each of them coming up empty. Swearing, he ransacked the curator's desk and finally found the book under a pile of dust-covered forms in one of the bottom drawers.

He sighed gratefully and slipped out of the museum. "Come on," Harry said. "Let's get back to England. Dolohov's and then you're free to return to your homes."

* * *

* * *

"It was almost surreal, Severus! Lord Ibex made us get in a _hole_ and dig!"Lucius said, gesturing wildly with his brandy glass. Snape wondered briefly if Lucius had been drinking before he had arrived. "And he was right there with us," the blond added after a thoughtful pause. No, Lucius wasn't drunk—just moody. "He didn't stand on the edge and make us do it by ourselves. And he was genuinely please when the girl found the box."

"Would this be the girl who saved you from the camel spider?" Severus asked with a chuckle.

"Is that what those things are called?" Lucius made a noise of deep disgust, "And yes, that's her." He shook his head, flying back to the conversation, "and then there was the second stop! He went in to a chamber—alone—and something screamed and a _gigantic_ animal flank came flying out, and then it screamed again when he returned. He _rode_ the piece of meat across the floor! There was a giant streak of blood across the floor from the dais to the doorway and he was _covered_ in it—absolutely covered! Lord Ibex left a trail of bloody red footprints halfway down the mountain."

"Do you know what it was that he killed?" Severus asked curiously.

"I have no idea." Lucius shrugged. "All I know is is that it was enormous, brown, furry, and that it whimpered. I never saw it—other than the bit that served as Lord Ibex's fleshy chariot, of course. I only ever heard the thing, and only when it was screaming."

Snape nodded, "Tell me about the rest of the trip—what else was I lucky enough to miss?" he asked with a mild smile.

"You're only lucky if you got that potion done for him in time. Otherwise, I was damn lucky and you'll probably get to test out _bone_ hammers or something. Anyway..."

* * *

* * *

"So you've completed the potion I asked for?" Harry asked Snape, lounging lazily in his obsidian throne in front of the audience gathered. It had been two weeks since the trip abroad, and three since Snape had received the order. He damn well have better finished by now, Harry thought irritably.

Snape nodded once. "I have, my lord."

"Tested it?" he asked, picking absently at the white hem of his blue robe.

"I have. It acts exactly as you require."

Harry nodded absently as he fiddled with a seam. "Do you have a phial of it on hand?"

"I do." Snape fished a small glass bottle out of his robes, filled with a swirling green potion.

"Bring it here," Harry ordered without looking up, enjoying Snape's moment of hesitation as he wondered how to approach the throne.

The black-haired man seemed to settle on a method and climbed the stairs. He stopped two steps below the throne and knelt, holding the phial in his extended hand.

Harry let him kneel for a moment before reaching down to pluck the glass container from the palm of Snape's hand. He examined it for a moment, "There's more, correct?"

"Yes, my lord."

Harry conjured a chest with a careless flick of his hand, "Place any remaining phials of it you have in the box."

Snape placed three more phials of the potion in the chest and Harry nodded, "Excellent," he said before rising. "Come with me, Severus," he beckoned Snape down the stairs.

Eying Harry, Snape followed him down the stairs. The black-robed crowd parted like the sea as Harry strode through, his robes trailing after him. Snape followed, pausing as Harry stopped before the door to the same side room he had spent Halloween night in.

A flicker of uncertainty crossed Snape's features when Harry opened the door and gestured him into the room, but he entered the room.

"How long does this work on humans?" Harry asked, holding up the phial.

"Six hours," Snape said.

"Good. Will Ennrevate work?"

"I believe so, my lord." Snape nodded.

"Excellent," Harry nodded. With a smile for Severus, Harry tossed the phial into the room and shut the door as the glass shattered.

He turned to look at the crowd. "Someone check in on him in fifteen minutes—I want to know the effects."

There were a wave of murmurs and Harry made his way back to the throne, long robes trailing behind him as he crossed the room and walked up the black steps. Once he had settled back on the throne, one leg thrown over an arm, he called, "Tiddles!"

There was a small crack at the foot of the stairs and the elf appeared. "Yes sir?" she squeaked.

"Have you finished the task I set you?" Harry asked.

An odd smile crossed the elf's face. "Yes sir. We was completing it before you was coming back."

"What did you do with the body?" he asked.

"We was thinking Sir might want to see it, so we is keeping it. Was sir wanting it?" Tiddles asked.

Harry nodded and the elf gave that odd smile again, disappearing with another small crack. There was the oddly hollow _thud!_ as something large, heavy, and frozen landed on the marble floor before the throne. Nagini glittered purple beneath the shining, swirling frost that coated her scales.

Tiddles reappeared next to the body. "We froze her, sir, and then I was cutting off her head!" she grinned triumphantly as she dropped the head of the snake on the bottom step.

"Thank you, Tiddles." Harry nodded to the creature.

Tiddles bowed deeply before disappearing and Harry looked down at the corpse. With a flick of his wand, Harry sent a tiny pinpoint of light at the snake. It wandered haphazardly through the air, shifting colors from red to purple as it floated down. Seemingly almost accidental, the fleck of light landed on the snake's spine.

There was a skitter and spark of violet energy that raced down the frost and the headless body reared up, thrashing wildly. Ice cracked off the animal in chunks that slid across the floor, and with a final, violent convulsion, the corpse stilled as a wail echoed through the room.

"Antonin," Harry called, "deal with the body, please." As Dolohov moved forward, Harry stood to speak to the crowd, "I bid you good night, ladies and gentlemen. Enjoy your evening. Richard—stay behind, please."

The Delugian in question hurried to the foot of the dais as Harry descended the pumice stairs. "My lord?"

"Please check on Snape and then I'd like to talk to you in the library on the third floor."

Richard nodded and scooted off to check on the potion master as Harry made his way to the library.

* * *

Harry had started to sift through the reports that had piled up on his desk. It wasn't so much paper work as reading and filing—after, of course, he had figured out if the report contained anything important.

He had gone through a dozen reports when Richard slipped into the room, tugging off his mask as he walked across the plus cream colored carpeting. This would be the first time Harry had ever seen the man's face, though he knew Richard's voice very well by now. He was very ordinary—of average height, with brown hair, blue eyes, and pale skin. His voice however, was distinctive, sounding bright and a little harsh when he became excited.

Reaching the tiger oak desk, the brunette bowed deeply and stood until Harry gestured to a chair nearby. As he sat, Harry searched his memory for a man similar to Richard Greene and found none. Hm. Must have died before I met him last time.

"You wished to talk to me about something, Lord Ibex?" Richard spoke into the silence, sounding nervous as Harry studied him.

"My apologies," Harry said after a moment. "Yes, I want you to take a position as my personal aide."

Richard's eye widened in surprise. "What would be required of me? In that capacity, I mean."

Harry smiled a little, "You would attend meetings with me and note anything you might think is important that is said or done. You would also be sent on errands and be in charge of compiling the information that comes in. Can you do that?" he asked Richard.

The young man nodded. "I believe I can, my lord. When do I start?"

"Tonight. I need the report on Snape. As soon as you have given me that, you are free for the evening. I expect to see you by noon tomorrow, however."

Richard nodded again. "I'll be there. As for Snape, he's fine. I had to cast a bubble-head charm to get in without breathing in the potion myself, but I checked him. No problems."

"Great," Harry nodded. "Very good. Enjoy your evening, Richard," he said, getting up.

"Thank you, my lord. You too, sir."

Harry nodded with a smile and left to wake up Snape.

* * *

Harry cast the bubble-head charm and opened the door to the Snape's side room. A soft green mist drifted out of the room and Harry stuck his head in. Severus lay sprawled on the floor in front of the door, so he simply reached down and physically dragged him out of the room by the collar of his robes and shut the door behind them. After putting the potions master down on the ballroom floor, Harry returned to the room and trotted around in it for a bit, sweeping through the delicate green fog.

After ascertaining that a bubble head charm would indeed work, Harry returned to Snape and Enervated him.

Severus woke with a start, searching the confines of the ball room with wild, confused eyes.

"Relax, Snape, relax," said Harry, standing over the man. "You've done an excellent job on the potion. I'm quite pleased, actually."

Snape barely managed to repress a glare, "I take it it met standard?"

"That it did," Harry nodded. "Burn the notes," he ordered.

The potion master's jaw dropped. "What?"

"I said," he repeated coolly, "burn the notes. All of them." Harry pulled on the compulsion magics woven into the ibex mark.

Snape's eyes dulled slightly as the magic took effect and he nodded. "I will, my lord."

"Very good!" Harry said jovially. "I trust you'll be at the circle meeting on Saturday night?" he asked. The circle meeting was, more or less, a gathering of the inner circle to discuss events, and he had quite deliberately not invited Snape to the last one. Even though he suspected Severus would see through this particular action, he expected the potions master's insecurity and need to be recognized to pull him in anyway.

A correct expectation, if the fleeting look of pride was anything to go by. "What time will it be, my lord?"

"At nine in the evening," Harry said. "See you then, Severus," he nodded before disappearing, leaving the man alone on the cold marble floor.


	3. Ishtar

**The words of his mouth were smoother than butter, but war was in his heart: his words were softer than oil, yet were they drawn swords.** ~Psalms 55:21

* * *

Harry crept around Grimmauld Place at dusk, noting what purebloods tended not to remember. They often forgot little details, like warding windows against _all_ intrusion. Sure, Harry himself couldn't climb through the window, but if he really wanted to kill Mrs. Black, that wouldn't matter. There were all sorts of nasty little spells, some of his own invention, that could ghost through the house and kill every last thing without requiring him to enter the building.

He levitated a large bottle of Snape's sleeping potion through a bottom story window into a sitting room and allowed it to drop. He closed the window, watching through it carefully as the thick gas spiraled upward. Before the room was fully clouded, Harry saw Kreacher come rushing into the room and then promptly passing out.

Harry cast a bubble head charm and cracked the window open just far enough to stick the end of his wand through the opening, and cast a spell that sent a gust of wind through the open door and swirling through the rest of the house. Harry waited half an hour and made his way to the front door. It took a further two hours to dissect the spells guarding the door and test for more on the threshold of the door. Once satisfied that opening the door wouldn't seriously harm him, he recast the Bubble Head Charm and continued to dissect the spells in the hallway.

Once he had destroyed the last spell, he slipped upstairs to the study. Harry assumed that if the locket had been in the study last time, that it had been placed there by Regulus himself. His guess was rewarded and he snagged it. He hurried out, apparated to the cave he had used to destroy the other horcruxes and dropped the locket not too far from the entrance. He stepped back and cast the Fiendfyre spell into the cave and ran for cover. A heartbeat later, a long blast of orange-red fire bloomed out of the mouth of the cave and into the night, the rock glowing white-hot.

Harry smiled to himself and sauntered home to Ramshackle Cottage.

* * *

Saturday arrived, and Harry called a circle meeting. He scanned the room as he strolled into the room, Richard trailing behind him. Everyone but Snape was seated at the long table in the study that served as the central planning room. He dropped into the chair at the head of the table.

Moments later, the door cracked open and Snape slipped in, stealing across the room to slip into an empty chair.

Harry raised an eyebrow at the man. "So nice of you to join us, Severus," he said caustically.

"My apologies, my lord. The Headmaster took overlong at the staff meeting," Snape replied stiffly.

A flimsy excuse, Harry felt, and he wondered vaguely what had held him up.

The meeting began properly and each member received an assignment that would occupy them for the next several weeks until the next meeting.

"My lord," Snape said at the end of the evening, "if I may ask a question...?"

Harry nodded with a shrug.

"What of the Order?" he asked. "They are still out there and are going to oppose us as often as possible."

Harry shrugged again. "They don't matter all that much. I'm changing the battlefield, Severus, and thus invalidating the lot of them. There's really no reason to go after them, but if they choose to interfere, I will not hesitate to deal with them. I would prefer not to—their deaths would create ill will—but needs must."

At the end of the gathering, Harry called, "Lucius, remain behind please."

Lucius stood near the table as the others filed out, and as soon as the door was shut Harry gestured at the chair.

"Sit," he said, and cast an Imperturbable on the door as Malfoy settled in the chair. "So, Lucius, how goes it with the werewolf bill?" he asked, propping his feet up on the table.

"It goes, my lord. I...am having some trouble enlisting a few of the older purebloods. They do not wish to be involved with such a bill," Lucius answered.

Harry nodded with a hum. "I want this done quietly, Lucius, but feel free to issue a few threats; I will be more than happy to assist you in carrying them through. Bribe them if you must. I will reimburse you some of what you spend doing so.

"However, I require that you offer your assistance to Dumbledore. We can drag his name through the mud later, but very quietly offer to help him pull people in in the mean time. I don't think he'll try to implicate you, since he'll know that the public won't believe him if he did." He looked sternly at Malfoy, "This discussion to to remain utterly confidential. You may not tell your wife, Severus, or your infant son. You may ask your fellows for assistance, of course, but the requirement is to remain classified. Do you understand?"

Malfoy nodded solemnly. "Yes, my lord."

* * *

Albus Dumbledore was not entirely surprised when Lucius Malfoy appeared in his office and offered his assistance with the werewolf bill. But he wasn't sure what to _do_ with the offer. The bill was an incredible piece of legislation that would help the lives of hundreds of people, but it would advance the power of a Dark Lord; he was very sure that Ibex wasn't doing good for the sake of doing good, which rather invalidated the whole thing.

* * *

The sudden lack of mysterious deaths was not unremarked upon by the Wizarding community and whispers shot through the halls of the Ministry and wound through Diagon Alley. Word got out that Lord Voldemort had been killed and the whispers became rumors. "Are we free?" "Is he really dead?" "How did that _happen_?"

Harry supposed he couldn't have hoped that the entirety of his Deluge would be discrete, though he still put out quiet feelers to find out who had opened their mouth. He, she, possibly they, would regret it.

Predictably, a young Rita Skeeter caught wind of the rumor swirling through Diagon Alley and started digging.

> _Lord Ibex: Man or Myth?_
> 
> _By Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent_
> 
> _Rumors abound that the You-Know-Who has been killed and replaced by a man calling himself "Lord Ibex." There is evidence that says You-Know-Who has disappeared—the sudden lack of black-cloaked raids and mysterious disappearances—but only an interview with a supposed follower proves anything about this new Dark Lord._
> 
> _"He's different," said the 'Delugian' as his followers are called. "Lord Ibex is just as brutal, but different than You-Know-Who ever was. He hasn't ordered us on any raids, and we've been told to behave ourselves, as he put it. Hist tactics are completely different."_

The article went on to dissect the interview, drawing wild conclusions at every turn. Harry was particularly amused when Skeeter suggested Lord Ibex was really James Potter in disguise. The resemblance was there, of course, but Harry looked essentially ageless, and James was easy to tag as early-twenties. The shift back to youth from middle age had also rearranged his features somewhat, making his face longer and his features sharper.

The next morning, the editorial section featured a furious letter from James, decrying Skeeter's article. The third morning, there was a reprint of the article, this time on the front page rather than in the back where it had originally been printed. Apparently, James' letter drew far more attention to _Lord Ibex: Man or Myth?_ than it had initially been given and the _Daily Prophet_ had been bombarded with requests for a reprint.

* * *

The evening of the third day, Harry received an owl at Dolohov's, which he ignored in favor of Crucio'ing the person responsible for the rumors in the first place.

"Gossip, gossip, evil thing, hmm Konrad?" Harry asked the young man panting on the floor.

"'M sorry, my l-lord," Konrad croaked. "I didn't th-think she would g-g-get anywhere with it!"

"Mm, well, she did, didn't she? Never assume things won't get somewhere. I shouldn't have, that's for certain," Harry said. "Should have handled it earlier, perhaps. Regardless, have we learned something here?" he asked.

The Delugian nodded weakly, "I n-never should h-have talked!" he said around the muscle spasms. "I'l-ll never d-do it again!"

"Excellent." Harry nodded. "Go see someone for a potion." He gestured at door.

Konrad scrambled up as fast as his cramping body would allow and hobbled out of the study. Harry turned around when the owl rapped on the window again and let it in. It soared around the room and landed on the back of a chair, holding out its leg.

The fanciful seal of the _Daily Prophet_ was stamped on a scroll, which he reluctantly untied.

> _Lord Ibex,_
> 
> _I write for the_ Daily Prophet _and wish to do another article about you. Would you be interested in giving me an interview?_
> 
> _Rita Skeeter  
>  Special Correspondent_

She was not yet the conniving and slick reporter she would be in later years, and still clumsy. No matter, Harry shrugged, as he would not be obliging her.

The constant owling went on for the better part of two weeks, and Harry grew progressively more annoyed with each flittering owl that arrived at either the mansion or his cottage. After seeing Harry hex an owl flapping around the study, Richard suggested putting up an anti-owl ward.

"This," Harry joked, "is why I keep you around."

Richard grinned. "Thank you my lord," he said with a minute bow. "I live to serve."

Harry laughed. "All right," he said, "you've volunteered yourself for the research, O my servant."

Richard sighed. "Yes sir," he said. "I brought that on myself, didn't I?"

"Possibly," Harry nodded. "possibly."

* * *

The third week after the _Lord Ibex_ article came out, the bill Lucius had been quietly pushing passed. There was a small section of the populous that cheered, but most of the people screamed bloody murder. There were cries about "misuse of tax money" and suggestions that the majority of the Wizengamot was senile, particularly Dumbledore, who had sponsored the bill. The _Daily Prophet_ did what it did best and thoroughly smeared the Headmaster's name.

That evening, Harry called his Delugians together in the ballroom.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he spoke, standing on the top stair of the dais. "We achieved a great victory yesterday when the werewolf bill passed."

There was an unsurprising rumble of discontent.

"There is a _reason_ this is a victory, my friends," he called over the muttering. "Many will move against the lycanthropes and most will be openly hostile to them. When we protect them, they will aide us. They are not small in number, several hundred—almost a thousand—are afflicted. Every wand that is for us is one less against us. Every willing soul will make our ascent to power and the forging of our new world that much easier. Offer them our protections and quiet the riot against them, and they will be our willing assistants.

"Every time they receive medical attention after a moon, they better off they are and the more likely they are to help us. Every werewolf with a job is one more with the ability to protect our families. Every lycan satisfied with life is one less that will rebel, one less impurity we will have to burn away in the flames of our forge." He paused, searching the crowd. "Do we have werewolves among us?"

A man stepped out of the crowd, straight-backed and proud. He pulled back his hood and flashed greying, kernel-like teeth in a smile. "Fenrir Greyback."

Harry stared at him. "I don't think you're a Delugian," he commented, wondering who the hell had let him in before realizing that he was probably still tuned to the wards.

"Not yet," agreed Greyback. "but I'll take the mark if you'll have me."

Harry paused and nodded. "I will discuss it with you later, but yes, you will be welcomed into the Deluge."

Greyback stood tall and nodded proudly before retreating back into the crowd.

Harry looked back over the crowd. "When you next meet a werewolf, remember that they can be great allies to us. They are to be sheltered and assisted whenever possible. Do your best by them and they will wield the forge bellows for us!"

The crowd cheered.

When Harry dismissed them, Richard scooted out to remind Greyback that he was to hang back, and in a few minutes the shabby man stood at the foot of the pumice dais.

Harry descended and stopped one step above the floor. "Do you wish to take the mark of Lord Ibex?"

"I do," said Greyback.

"Do you agree to serve him all your life?"

"I do."

"Do you agree to obey his orders and commands?"

"I do."

"Then be welcomed into the Deluge, Fenrir Greyback." Harry pulled out his wand and gestured for Greyback's left arm. The werewolf rolled up his sleeve and the marking ceremony took place.

"I have heard tell of you, Greyback," Harry remarked to him, once he had reached the throne again.

"Oh?" asked Greyback curiously.

"Mhm." he nodded solemnly as he sat down, "None of it good. You are to avoid bitting people. I am aware that it is your favorite revenge tactic, and Merlin have mercy on you if you bite another child because I will not."

Greyback nodded solemnly. "I will do my best."

"No," disagreed Harry. "You will ensure that it does not happen. If it does, even by accident, then you will suffer my wrath; it will only be an issue if you choose not to use the tools at your fingertips to prevent it. If nothing else, we will assist you, if you cannot find something on your own." Harry narrowed his eyes at Greyback, "Do you understand?"

Fenrir nodded and bowed. "I do, my lord."

"Excellent. Understand that you probably will not survive what I will do to you if you fail to put up safeguards."

Greyback had heard about what Lord Ibex had done to Rookwood and he liked his veins and skin right where they were. "I understand."

"Excellent. You are dismissed."

The next day, Rita Skeeter's second article came out, called _An Unknown Agenda._ Luckily, it was buried under the mess of the werewolf bill, so very few people noticed it. It detailed what very little Skeeter had discovered about what Harry intended to do and noted his refusal to allow an interview, despite repeated owls requesting one.

Harry rolled his eyes and moved on, deciding he would hex the woman when an opportunity presented itself.

* * *

Remus stared thoughtfully at the newspaper over breakfast.

Sirius looked at his flatmate and friend curiously as he buttered his toast. "That expression generally means you're plotting something, Moony. What fresh Hells are you planning to unleash on the world today?"

Remus shot him a look over his paper. "Hells? That's your end of things, Sirius. I tend to stick with mild-but-hilarious."

"So you think," he said dryly. "But you haven't answered my question, Remus," Sirius reminded him, still scraping his toast with the butter knife.

Remus rolled his eyes. "Just considering ways to figure out who this Ibex person is. Skeeter, the one who wrote _Lord Ibex: Man or Myth?_ She wrote another article called _An Unknown Agenda_ and noted that she's owled him for an interview and that he's refused. I was thinking we could owl him ourselves and attempt to track the bird."

"Did she says he'd written back to tell her no?"

"No, so it's possible the owl simply didn't reach him. But it's worth a try, though."

* * *

Harry was in the middle of a meeting several weeks after the werewolf bill had passed when he felt something at the edge of his cottage's wards. He frowned.

He apparated home, landing in his yard. He made his way through the small wood that surrounded his home and that fell under his wards. Peering out of the brush that edged the trees, Harry saw Dumbledore, James, and Lily staring at the trees on the edge of his property.

"Did we figure out who's address this is?" asked James.

Dumbledore nodded. "Issac Merriweather."

James snickered. "Impressive name for a Dark Lord."

Dumbledore examined the wards, casting a few spells. "I haven't seen wards like this before," he said, peering at the symbols etched in spell plasma on the dome of the wards. "These aren't runes." He paused as a graceful, elegant script appeared, going from right to left. "...That looks like Arabic."

Lily looked at him incredulously. " _Arabic?_ What's he doing, using Arabic?"

"It's not Arabic, per se, but it looks very similar, Lily. I would guess that he doesn't expect—and rightfully so—that anyone will know the counter spells. There's precious few ways to unbind spells you don't know, and none of the ways I know will work on this." Symbols continued popping up on the dome and Dumbledore stared blankly at them. "Some of this is...old magic. Very old magic. I've never seen some of these symbols."

The image of a beautiful woman standing on a crescent moon appeared on the ward dome. A horned snake was draped across her shoulders and she had a halo of stars. She tilted her head at them curiously and spoke, but it was too soft for them to make out very much and what little they caught didn't sound like English anyway. Then she hissed loudly and a laugh echoed out of the woods.

They froze and James lifted a lit wand, shining light into the woods. A man stood in the brush and the light glinted off his glasses. He smiled eerily at them and disappeared with a flicker before any of them got a good look.

* * *

At the beginning of March's mass meeting, Snape brought along a surprise. A cloaked man trailed through the crowd after him and Severus lead him before the throne. He forced the man to his knees with a _thump_ , a slight, malicious smile on his lips.

"My lord, I have a recruit I wish to bring to your attention," he said quickly, yanking back the man's hood. Remus Lupin looked up at Harry with trepidation.

Harry blinked before masking his surprise. It was clear the Snape had convinced Dolohov to let Remus in and Harry decided he needed to alter Dolohov's wards so that he and he alone could choose was allowed in. He shot the cringing Antonin a harsh glare.

"Be nice, Severus," Harry admonished, looking back at his visitor and Snape. "Let him stand up." He watched expectantly as Snape backed up a couple steps and Remus rose. He seriously doubted Remus legitimately wanted to join.

"Remus Lupin," Harry drawled with amusement, "A pleasure."

Remus looked startled and then slightly worried that Harry knew his name. "Thank you, my lord."

Harry said, "I will wish to speak to you privately later, but do feel free to stick around if you like. Alternatively, there's a side room nearby that you may retire to. Severus here is quite familiar with it, so he can show you there if that's what you decide." Harry ignored the flicker of a scowl that crossed Snape's face.

"I think I'll stay here, my lord."

"As you like," Harry said, turning back to the crowd. "The werewolf bill is proving to be a success," he called as soon as they had quieted. "Bite rates are down, prosperity is up after only four months, and more packs are joining us every day!"

There was cheer in the back, where several packs stood NS Harry flashed them a smile before moving on. "The transition has been surprisingly quiet, and for that I must thank you. This is but the beginning of the flood that will wipe our society's slate blank, so that we may begin again. This is the first strike of the hammer that will forge our new world! We must cultivate a good image for the Deluge amongst the common witch and wizard. Speak highly of the world we wish to create, the world we will help to bloom, one we will all help build. A world where all witches and wizards are safe and well treated, where each person—human and otherwise—can stand tall and know they have a place and a purpose in life. It is only when we all stand together that the magical world will be safe!"

A woman stepped forward amid the cheering. "My lord, if I may ask a question?"

He nodded. "Ask away."

"What of mudbloods?" she asked bluntly, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her mask. Ah. Anesidora.

Harry angrily narrowed his eyes at her, remembering Hermione and her theory. "You disappoint me by using such a vulgar term, Anesidora. Such words have no place in our new world. Muggleborns are descended of magical lines and are brought back to their proper place for a reason. Magic does nothing without purpose, my dear. Always trust it has a reason, one that is often greater than mortals can see."

There were far more half bloods and muggleborns than purebloods, most of whom he already had on a leash. He had tightened the collar on that leash since the Yaxley incident as well, so he wasn't very concerned about them slipping away. He wanted to capture the biggest segment of the magical population he could and he would sacrifice a few purebloods if he had to, to convince the rest of them to stay in line.

Anesidora nodded wordlessly and stepped back into the crowd. Harry looked at Richard, tilting his head toward Anesidora ever so slightly. Richard got the message and nodded. Harry would have to remember to reward the man at some point in the near future—such a brilliant assistant.

He spent the rest of the meeting whipping them into a frenzy, urging them to act for peace, prosperity, and for his good name. When they were dismissed, the Delugians flooded out of the ballroom doors, cheering for their future. Well, the one they imagined, anyway. Harry wasn't sure that most of their imaginings would match up with the world he was planning to build. They'd eventually get closer to his idea of course, but that could be months or years from now.

Anesidora hung back at Richard's request and Remus was shown to a side room for the moment.

"I meant what I said, Anesidora. Don't use that word—you're better than that, or so I would like to think." Harry had discovered during the war in his old time line that disappointment worked far better than anger for stringing people along, and used it without hesitation.

She nodded. "I'm sorry, my lord. I...assumed, incorrectly, that you would be following your predecessor's directive on this issue."

He shook his head. "Part of why Voldemort was leading you to ruin was this issue. Muggleborns don't exist without reason and his theory that they steal magic from wizards is illogical at best—one would think they'd have to be magical to _begin_ with for that to even be a possibility. The only thing that suggests his theory is the decrease in relative magical power amongst purebloods—the simplest and probably most correct answer to that is inbreeding. When you add new blood to an old family, the power level shoots up to near its full potential, assuming it doesn't meet it. Your late lord was an example of that, by the way."

Anesidora nodded, digesting the information about Voldemort, and asked curiously, "You think magic is sentient?"

"To some extent. Hogwarts has so much ambient magic that it's a little sentient. Collectively, all the magic in England is probably three or four times that aware. But, admittedly, the castle is my best piece of evidence, though some of the old magical objects seem something like that. Remember the floor in the ruins?"

She nodded.

"Part of the reason that floor is so dangerous is its sentience. If you know that path, you're safe, but if not, it can come up with various ways to kill you. It's not a very clever floor, as my ride across it proves I think, but there's some intelligence there."

Anesidora nodded agai., "As you say, my Lord. I will endeavor to erase that word from my vocabulary."

"Excellent, my girl. Kindly fetch Mr. Lupin on your way out?"

She bowed and did as he asked, bowing again before slipping from the room.

Harry sighed and looked down at Remus from his obsidian throne. "So."

"Yes?"

"Do you honestly wish to join me? I admit I have trouble picturing you trading sides without the Headmaster's prodding." Harry paused to watch Remus's face. "I would be glad for someone with your skill to join, but I'd prefer for you not to be spying—not that you'd be learning anything interesting for a long time, if ever." He paused again and then went on. "This is a binding agreement, Mr. Lupin. If you accept, you can't back out."

When Remus said nothing, he added, "I'm really not interested in chasing you and the Order, so if you choose not to join, there will be no repercussions."

Remus hesitated. He'd been given strict orders from the Headmaster to join, though he really didn't want to. "Why aren't you interested in the Order? If I may ask an off-topic question," he amended.

Harry sighed, suspecting that Snape had already explained it. "I'm changing the field, and I see no reason to destroy people who aren't a threat. The Order is geared for defense combat—a battle field I'm not interested in playing on."

Remus nodded neutrally.

Harry fixed him with a gaze. "You haven't answered my question. Is this a sincere switch or is this at the behest of Dumbledore?"

He hesitated a second too long. "...Sincere."

"Mhm," Harry hummed skeptically, "I somehow don't believe you. Go home, Mr. Lupin and mind the silver on your way out. Richard!" Harry called, and the man appeared at the foot of the throne. "Escort Mr. Lupin off the premises and call Dolohov here, please."

Richard bowed and lead the werewolf away. Some minutes later Dolohov appeared, bowing before the throne.

Harry sighed. "Really, no more surprise visitors. Either you need to clear all of them with me beforehand, or I need to be the only one who can adjust the wards."

"I'm sorry, my lord," Dolohov mumbled, staring at the floor.

Harry nodded. "I know you are, Antonin. I'm giving you the choice on the wards, though. Either clear all visitors with me, or allow me to hold the wards."

It went unspoken that Dolohov really had no choice in the matter. "I think it would be best if you held the wards, my lord," he said.

Harry nodded. "Very well. I really would prefer not to have to do this, Antonin, but you must understand that I don't appreciate it when you act outside your prerogative. You are not in charge of recruitment and you are in no place to see people who should be brought to a recruiter's attention. Recruiters already are aware they have to clear potentials with me—except Snape, it appears." Harry paused. The man would have to be dealt with. "Do not seek to gain power in this manner, as I have no doubt that was what you were after. Do what you are ordered and you will receive what you seek."

Without another word, Harry fired a hex of his own creation, one which forced Dolohov to sprout iron feathers along the back of his arms and along his spine and stripped the nutrient from his blood. He screamed in pain as the feathers sliced through sensitive flesh and cloth. Watery, pinkish blood dribbled from the metal barbs and then splattered as the feathers tumbled to the marble floor with clang. Another set of plumage ripped through the newly healed skin and he howled.

Harry allowed two more sets of feathers to grown and molt before he ended the spell and cast a healing spell that put iron back in Dolohov's blood.

"Don't make me do that again," Harry said mournfully. "I truly despise having to teach you this way."

Antonin nodded weakly and Harry was surprised that the man was still standing. The feathers tended to bristle when forced through muscle and skin, badly tearing tissue. But then, Harry supposed, it wasn't quite as bad as the Cruciatus Curse Dolohov had been trained to, though perhaps more twisted then the Unforgivable.

Harry shot Dolohov an icy glare. "We will deal with the wards when you have had sufficient time to recover. Do not allow anyone else through the wards in the mean time, however, or another Iron Feather curse will be the least of your worries."

Dolohov bowed and escaped, taking Harry's words as a dismissal. Harry called for Richard again. "Kindly fetch Snape for me, assuming he is still in the manor," he said when his aide entered the room.

Fifteen minutes later, Richard returned with Snape trailing behind him.

Harry eyed him coolly. "I expected you to know better than to bring recruits in without notifying me. You _were_ there, after all, when I issued that order, whereas Dolohov was not."

"I am sorry, my lord." Snape bowed. "He notified me rather last minute that he wished to join us."

" _Not_ an excuse, Severus," he said with lifted wand.

After he finished cursing Snape, Harry hung around the manor long enough to go through a few reports before going home to ponder his next move, as well as who he could trust to advise him. He was an excellent judge of character, but knew very well that he didn't always make the best moves; that had always been Hermione's department.

* * *

Rastaban was far more intelligent than anyone ever thought he was. At the moment, he was considering his new Lord. Ibex was a bundle of contradictions and seemed a little wild sometimes, though he handled the crowd admirably. He swirled the wine glass in his hand, staring at the fire, wondering.


	4. Clues

**And the little screaming fact that sounds through all history: repression works only to strengthen and knit the repressed.-** John Steinbeck

* * *

Remus Lupin walked into his shabby little cottage after returning from the Delugian meeting to find the rest of the Order waiting for him in his kitchen.

Sirius looked up at him from his seat, worried. "How did it go?"

"He refused me," he said as he dropped into the seat next to Lily.

"So much for equality," sneered James as he held his son, the rest of the Order looking surprised.

Remus shook his head. "That had nothing to do with it; I saw several werewolves with his mark. He knows I'm part of the Order and didn't think I would actually trade sides," he looked up at Dumbledore, "without, quote, 'the Headmaster's prodding.' I didn't think he knew about my lycanthropy either, until he told me to mind the silver when he had me escorted out of the manor.

"What do you think of him?" asked Gideon Prewett, ignoring Dumbledore's unhappy expression. "All we every get are Snape's impressions, so I want to know what you think."

Remus shrugged. "He's very adept at connecting with his audience and he whips them into a frenzy without much effort. Sounds a lot like some of muggle ideologues, actually. Ibex is veering away from You Know Who's path like Snape said, and still seems to have most everybody's devotion." Remus shook his head. "He got angry when one of his lackeys used the word, 'mudblood,' too, and told her what I guess is his theory for their existence." Remus shot Lily an amused sidelong look. "If he's right, that means your family has a squib or something somewhere in the family tree."

James gave an evil grin. "I should owl Petunia."

Lily rolled her eyes. "Leave my poor sister alone."

Dumbledore looked troubled. "If he knows you're in the Order and a werewolf, and where Sirius lives, then I think we can presume he's aware of Severus but chooses not to do anything about him. Ibex does not strike me as being unintelligent, so it's very likely that he's been using Snape to pass incorrect information to us."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Everything Snape has passed on has proven correct, so far."

"That may just be Ibex building up Snape's credibility before he feeds him false information," Remus reminded him. "This man isn't predictable at all. He's nothing like I expected and I think he may enjoy throwing people off balance. Maybe he'll fuck up someday because of it." Remus shrugged.

"If we should be so lucky," commented Fabian Prewett from where he sat next to his brother. "Where is Snape, by the way?" he asked.

Dumbledore looked suddenly uncertain, "I don't know. He should have beaten Remus back here, I think."

They waited...and waited...and waited. It was well over an hour and a half before a pale, wide-eyed Snape opened the door to the kitchen. He made his way to a scratched and stained wooden bench at the table, looking shaken.

"What _happened?_ " asked Remus after the moment had passed. Ibex had seemed mild, despite being a Dark Lord.

"He was _displeased_ that I had not cleared you with him prior to bringing you to the meeting, Lupin." The Potions Master sneered bitterly. "After all, _I knew better_."

"Do you require medical attention?" asked Dumbledore with concern.

"I do not. I have already taken the—" Snape paused, wincing, "—antidote I was given. Though I am still in pain, it will pass."

James raised an eyebrow. "He gave you an antidote?"

"He feels I am still useful and would prefer not to have to find a new potions master, Potter." Snape replied.

"What exactly did he do?" Sirius asked, arching a skeptical brow.

Snape growled. "He ordered a snake to attack me."

" _Another_ parselmouth?" Moody groaned, slouching on the bench.

Snape glared. " _Yes,_ another parselmouth."

"Nagini?" asked Dumbledore.

"No, Ibex had her killed," Snape said. "He cast Serpentsortia and he just _smiled_ at me when it bit me, too." He shuddered. "And then he used a spell I've never heard anything about before."

"Mm, he seems to know a lot of things like that," Lily commented, choosing to watch her sleeping son cradled in her arms instead of looking at Snape.

Snape avoided looking at Mrs. Potter, too, focusing on the Headmaster, who was looking at him expectantly. "It was sort of like a boggart, only in my mind," he said, tapping his temple with spidery, pale fingers. "And there's no way to escape it there."

"It forced to you see your fears?" Dumbledore asked.

" _Live_ them, more like, and there's almost no chance to escape them there." Snape almost shivered before he caught Sirius's look of mocking disdain. "Do you want me to show you, Black? I can, if you like. I can force you to relive every nightmare to _ever_ come trotting through that thick skull of yours!"

"Shut _up_ , Snape! You're going to wake Harry!" James hissed as the baby started to fuss.

"I do not _care_ about your infernal brat, Potter! Take him elsewhere if this is going to be a problem!" he snarled.

James opened his mouth to retort, but Lily placed a restraining hand on his arm, and he refrained, just barely, from issuing a scathing remark. Ithaca Jones, an older Order member, rolled her eyes at both men from where she sat on the other end of the table and moved to retrieve the now-crying Harry from his mother, leaving for the sitting room. The child quieted in her arms as she walked and the rest of the Order went back to business, though Lily occasionally glance into the small sitting room.

James glared furiously at Snape, the fire light glinting off his lenses, giving the potions master pause as a similar vision darted through his mind.

"Severus?" Dumbledore asked when Snape remanded silent, "Are you all right?"

Snape nodded tiredly. "I'm simply worn out, Headmaster."

Dumbledore nodded. "Was there anything else?"

"No. Other than the snake, the Boggart Spell, and the lecture about remembering my duty, there was nothing else. I was told to clear all potential recruits with him, and that if I failed to do so again, I would probably not survive the next time."

Dumbledore nodded. "Thank you, Severus. Would you prefer to retire?"

Uncharacteristically, Snape accepted the dismissal and left for Hogwarts and his bed.

* * *

_The sea was a murky blue-green this time, but the poisonous coral spores still blossomed red and white in the water. They coated his clothes and skin, and some broke through the Bubblehead Charm, and he breathed them in before he could stop himself. He felt the mania take hold of him, just like last time, and he struggled harder to reach the soma plants as they undulated like sea grass in the current. Harry managed to grab one and pull it out of the sand, root and all, before making for the surface._

_He breached the surface and slogged through the water to the beach, collapsing on the sand as Hermione rushed to his side._

" _Are you ok?" she asked worriedly, looking at his pale, taunt face._

_He grinned wildly. "Of course. Did you want to share the plant with me?"  
_

_She shook her head. "I don't want to live forever."  
_

_Harry smiled toothily. "Well, I_ do." _He immediately rinsed the plant off and began to strip the waxy green leaves off the stem, stuffing them in his mouth. The purple puff of what looked similar to flowers, the roots, and the coined rubbery stalk all followed in short order. He would not let a snake get_ his _soma!_

_But unlike the last time, the mania did not retreat when he had swallowed the last bite of stem, leaving him hollow and penitent. Instead, it grew and engulfed him in a haze of deeper madness and he laughed as he succumbed._

Harry hated reliving the bad bits of his life in his dreams. The frequency of the dreams had dropped over the years from every night to two or three a month, but that didn't make the nights he jerked awake any more livable. Time had dulled the memories, but the dreams were as sharp-edged as ever.

He sighed and turned over, crossing his arms on his forehead. There was no point in staying in bed since he wasn't going to be able to get back to sleep this morning, so he up and cast a Tempus spell as he stretched. Bloody _hell_ , only six in the morning! Harry sighed again and popped his back before making for his kitchen.

* * *

It was nearly noon when Rabastan Lestrange appeared at the manor, right on time for his appointment with Lord Ibex. Richard showed him to a small dining room off the ball room, where his lord sat at a round table as the house elves laid out lunch.

"Ah, there you are, Rabastan. Please, take a seat," Ibex gestured vaguely at the empty chairs, "wherever you like."

Rabastan settled down across from the man he hesitated to call the Dark Lord. "Thank you, my lord."

Ibex smiled. "Do drop the 'my lord' bit for the moment, please."

"Just Ibex, then?"

"Correct," the green eyed man nodded, nibbling on a sweet pepper. "So, how is your recently widowed brother doing?"

"As well as someone in his situation can be, I suppose," Rabastan replied diplomatically and Ibex smiled.

They whiled away lunch with the social niceties that must be observed before moving on to business over tea in Ibex's study.

"If I may ask a...blunt question, Ibex?" Rabastan asked hesitantly as he sat on the brown and cream velveteen couch, sipping his tea.

Ibex examined him for a moment, and he felt like a small, furry creature being dissected in a potions lab. It passed and the other man nodded with a shrug. "Shoot."

"What exactly is this all about? I know that you wish to remake our society, but after that?"

"Then we will get on with being a society. A core contingent will remain active and in my service to help me guide what we will forge," Ibex said, blowing on his tea. "But the Deluge at large will probably be filtered out into positions and places that they are suited for—politics, the Ministry in general." He waved a hand dismissively, before looking Rabastan in the eye. "I will be requiring advisers both now and then, and I intend to bring you on as one."

Rabastan was surprised—he wasn't even thirty yet and an immortal wanted his advice? He nodded after a moment, "I would be honored."

Ibex smiled, "Excellent."

-  
Rabastan left sometime around three and they had hashed a number of things out, including setting up a proper hierarchy for the Deluge and bringing on a few more advisers. Harry was quite pleased Rabastan had been so willing to help—the man was well connected, well bred, and intelligent. He was perfect.

Then there was the Snape problem to deal with. A slight smile slid across Harry's face as he remembered with spiteful enjoyment how pleasant it had been to control the man who had been the ogre of his younger years.

There was a delicate little dance to be preformed here. He needed Snape for his abilities and it would be nice to have him to pass certain information on to the Order. On the other hand, it would be harder to control what information he did and didn't get if Snape had a standing invitation.

Lucius would probably talk to him about what was being said at the gatherings as well, even if he was asked not to. Malfoy was necessary to keep however, and Harry was reluctant to use the coercions in the mark as he would prefer that those remain permanently unnoticed; using them too much would assure that they were noticed. He had already pushed it when he forced Snape to burn the notes.

Perhaps he should modify the hierarchy he and Rabastan planned to put into practice. A upper division of the first rank consisting of his lieutenants and Richard, and a lower one consisting of the others who were useful but less than trustworthy, including Snape and Lucius? The fully secondary rank would still consist of those who would handle the day to day details of the assignments their divisions received. They would answer to the first rank, who would answer to Harry.

* * *

April rolled around and Harry deviated from routine. He normally went straight home after leaving Dolohov's, but one evening he stopped at a muggle grocer's in London on a whim , hoping they had what he sought. Wizards did not have Oreos, which was a shame, and he had the single stupidest craving for them. He shucked, folded, and shrank his robes and stuffed them in his pants pocket and went in after transfiguring some dirty receipts he found on the ground into a few pounds. He looked a bit like a young businessman in his black slacks and a shirt that vaguely recalled a muggle button up, and a few people stared at him curiously as he wandered the almost-empty aisles.

Today was his lucky day! The blue and white of an Oreo package caught his eye in the back of a chest-level shelf, and it looked to be the last one.

* * *

Sirius was doing his shopping at nearly midnight and was very unhappy about it. He was tired and wanted to go home, dammit! Unfortunately, there was no food in the cupboards, and Remus would be very displeased when he realized Sirius hadn't done the shopping yet so he slogged through the aisles with his cart.

He entered the junk food aisle, intending to buy a package or two of biscuits. There was another man on the aisle and for a moment, Sirius thought he was looking at James. No, definitely not James, he thought, examining the man in the dingy yellow lighting. Too short and kind of pointy. And he was dressed rather differently than his friend did when in the muggle world, looking more like he had just left a business meeting than like James's escaped university student.

It clicked. And Sirius, in his Gryffindor brashness, decided to speak to him. "Ibex," he called, moving leisurely down the aisle as he examined the shelves.

The man looked up and met his gaze with Lily-green eyes. "Mr. Black. A pleasant surprise."

"I'm sure," Sirius replied sarcastically, looking over at the other man.

Ibex smiled at him, a tinge of mockery in his expression. "What can I do for you this evening? I assume you have a reason for interrupting my biscuit run."

"'Biscuit run?'" Sirius asked incredulously.

"Biscuit run," Ibex confirmed. "We don't have these," he said, waving his box of Oreos. "And I like them. Again, what can I do for you?"

"You can quit this game and crawl back into the hole you came out of," Sirius said coolly, wanting to keep his voice low. The aisle was empty, but it wouldn't be if he gave into his desire to yell.

"Ah. Well, I'm afraid I haven't lived in a hole in a very long time and going back to it is out of the question. And the game you're referring to? Be thankful it's me and not my predecessor. The future would have been extremely bloody in the long run, had I not interfered."

"A seer, are we?" Sirius sneered.

"Mm, no, not exactly. Regardless, I will be better in the long run, I think. I happened to have stayed awake in history, and I think I know what will work."

"Do you, now?"

Ibex nodded. "Cruel rulers are always replaced. Weak rulers are killed. A good ruler can maintain control and avoid oppressing his subjects; there are more subtle ways to control people than holding them at wand-point."

Sirius frowned, uncertain as to how to react to that. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I see no reason not to. Really, I don't see why you're so angry with me. What have I done to you?"

"You're trying to take over our world!" Sirius snarled.

Ibex shrugged. "I'll give you that. But I still haven't harmed you."

"You're asking me to stand aside while you manipulate people into your service!"

A pause. "I am. You're not going to loose anything by it, though. I don't do business like Voldemort did. I'd be surprised if you oppose me, at least in practice, in the long run."

"I'm always going to oppose you!" Sirius growled.

Ibex shrugged, but didn't say anything.

"I still don't understand why you're doing things this way," Sirius told him. "It doesn't make any sense."

"I don't really care if it makes sense to you, but I suppose explaining it wouldn't hurt." Ibex shrugged. "Why don't we make our purchases first and then go, I don't know, to a pub? Muggle or otherwise, it's up to you."

"You're unbelievable," muttered Sirius incredulously. "You want me to go have drinks with you while you explain your brand of evil?"

"Surreal, isn't it?" Ibex asked cheerfully. "That's what Lucius kept muttering when we were away last winter. So, shall we go, or do you want to go on being confused?"

"I don't think I want to fraternize with the enemy, " Sirius sneered. "So no, I will not go down to the pub with you."

"All right, then," Ibex shrugged. "Nice talking to you." he turned away and walked down the aisle.

"Wait!"

Ibex turned to look at him, peering over his glasses at Sirius. "Yes?"

"I...I want to know—are you a Potter?"

"I'm Ibex, Mr. Black, that's all you need to know."

"You can't possibly have just appeared from under a cabbage leaf! What family?" Sirius demanded.

Ibex paused. "I think you know what name. I'd be surprised if you hadn't been told."

"I've never heard of that family before," Sirius told him.

He shrugged. "Should that matter to me? There's about ten thousand of our kind on the Isles. You can't possibly know every family." Ibex gave him a chilled smile, "Are there anymore questions you wish to ask me in the middle of a muggle supermarket?" He gestured with the package of biscuts at the grimy whitish linoleum flooring and the tall beige shelves. When Sirius remained silent, the other man turned and left.

* * *

His conversation with Sirius raised a good point. He would always be Harry Potter to himself—that was his name, after all, but he supposed he wasn't really a Potter. Potters were entirely honorable and loving and irrevocably light and they matured at a certain point.

Harry still loved and he liked doing good, when he could. He missed Hermione dreadfully, lo these fifteen years later. Part of him was happy that his younger self would have his parents and never see the inside of the Dursley's house and that Sirius would never know Azkaban. He was proud that he had done something to alleviate Remus's plight.

But he knew very well that if it had better suited his purposes, he would have left James and Lily to be killed, Sirius to go to Azkaban, and he might have instituted harsher laws against werewolves. The bit of him that time had let properly mature rather thought that his motivations sucked all the good out of those actions and left them, at best, barely neutral. That was distinctly un-Potterly. Of course, the rest of him hummed, shrugged, and went about plotting his takeover anyway.

* * *

The clues were piling up and Dumbledore was at a loss as to how to sort them. There were no records of an Issac Merriweather in Gryffindor that they could find and no one in the Potter tree that bore a similar name so far as the records went back. In fact, the only record he could find of Issac Merriweather at all was the deed to his recently purchased cottage. Ibex, as Sirius had so aptly put it, "had appeared out from under a cabbage leaf," and people simply didn't do that.

He also seemed to know far too much for such a recent appearance and that didn't make sense. Sirius, in his little super market showdown with the man, had asked him if he thought himself a seer when he had claimed that the future would have been very bloody without him. Ibex had told him, for all intents and purposes that he wasn't, but that he still knew what would have happened.

A frown. Dumbledore didn't like where this thought was leading.

Remus, Sirius, and Severus had all reported that Ibex had the same color eyes as Lily did and he did look very much like James. Harry would look like James some day, he thought with a smile, and already had Lily's eyes.

Dumbledore frowned again...That couldn't be right...


	5. Answers

" **If my answers frighten you then you should cease asking scary questions."** —Samuel L. Jackson, _Pulp Fiction_

* * *

Harry shifted uneasily in his sleep, frowning. He opened his eyes, looking with annoyance at the setting moon, wreathed in clouds. Someone was at the edges of his wards _again_. He rolled over, refusing to get up to see whoever it was. The person kept circling the edge of his property and _refused_ to go away for the next thirty minutes _._ He rolled back over and glared at the moon again as it peeped over the trees and into his bedroom as he got up. Huffing in irritation, he pulled on jeans and a robe, grabbed his wand and left his house, setting out for the western edge of his wards.

He followed a deer trail out to the edge of the woods. "Whoever you are," he announced crankily as he stepped out of the brush, "what the _hell_ do you want?"

"Just to confirm something—Harry."A familiar voice drifted in from the glen.

Harry sighed. "I suppose I was a little indiscreet, especially at the beginning," he admitted, peering at the emerging silhouette of the Headmaster. "And I shouldn't be surprised you put two and two together."

"You _did_ throw the pieces out there rather causally. Someone would have eventually put them together," Dumbledore commented, transfiguring himself a squashy chair out of a rock.

 _Typical,_ Harry thought, staring at the chair. He thought it might be blue _._ "True. Now, have I satisfied your curiosity?"

"Not yet, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said calmly, conjuring a few glowing balls of light to hover in the glen, casting the area in a soft golden glow.

"I haven't heard anyone call me that in ages," Harry chuckled. "Not in at least thirty years."

"I imagine you'll be answering why in a bit," He said evenly before an abrupt glare. "Why are you risking the sanity of a _child?"_ His voice was harsh.

"I'm quite sure I'm not," Harry responded evenly.

"People have gone _mad_ , Mr. Potter, when they see themselves in such a situation," Dumbledore reminded him.

" _Weak_ _people_ , Headmaster. The weak are driven mad when they see themselves instead of making inferences or asking questions," Harry replied. "I am not weak and he won't be either."

Dumbledore shook his head, "You are hanging the world and a child's mind on an assumption—not a certainty."

Harry raised an eyebrow, "I don't think Lily Evans could raise a weak child and James Potter would prank it out of him if the unthinkable happened. More than that, I don't think we'll ever share the key elements of personal identity which would be required for any potential time traveling madness. He's not going to grow up under the cloud of a misheard prophecy. I didn't grow up with my parents."

Dumbledore's face went suspiciously blank, and Harry choose to interpret that as shock. He chuckled and conjured himself a chair. Perhaps this would be worth the lost sleep, Harry thought.

"Oh yes, I know about the prophecy," Harry smiled, "and I fulfilled it, too, in 2002." Harry's smiled widened as Dumbledore was unable to prevent a little of his surpise from showing. He launched into an explanation of his past, from early childhood to the summer after his sixth year, skimming over the history of the horcruxes along the way.

"Two friends and I went on the run," he went on, starting in on what should have been his seventh year. "Intending to hunt down the remaining horcruxes and we figured out along the way that I was one, too. One of my friends abandoned us under the malign influence of the locket horcrux, and then came back and destroyed it with us. Voldemort put a taboo on his own name, which I stupidly triggered. We were captured and because Voldemort was frothing mad at that point, we spent a considerable period as prisoners instead of being immediately killed, as would have been sensible.

"Bella took considerable delight in one of my friends, as she was muggleborn. I should have died at the hands of Rookwood, towards the end, but the fact that Voldemort had used my blood in the resurrection ritual allowed me to survive, though I shed the horcrux. Ron did die and Hermione barely scrapped through. We finally escaped with the subtle help of Snape.

"The Order had been decimated by the time we got out—most of the Weasleys, all three Tonkses, and dozens of others. Hogwarts was a ruin, the Ministry overrun by Voldemort, and then we lost Remus, Charlie, and Molly in a battle shortly after Hermione and I escaped. Almost a year later, I managed to kill Voldemort. After that, there was hardly anyone left. Maybe three hundred witches and wizards, and only five of the Order—McGonagall, Arthur, Percy, Bill and Kingsley Shacklebolt. Only Arthur and McGonagall stayed in England. Hermione and I left for Prague, Kingsley went to St. Andrews in the Caribbean, Percy left for Canada, and Bill went back to Egypt. We returned for Arthur and Percy Weasley's funerals and then came home for good in 2060." Harry shook his head sadly. "Hermione died in 2065 when a spell she was playing with backfired. I came back in 2080."

"What about the horcruxes now?" Dumbledore asked, not certain where else to start.

Harry sniffed, "Destroyed. You hardly think I'd leave bits of him around, do you?"

* * *

Reginald Spoon was a man who might have been a wealthy dandy in a previous life, or perhaps a fence post; he wore a monocle and a black and white three piece suit and he generally wore a jaunty little hat. He was also thin and lanky to the point of reminding a viewer of a walking iron post, with shoe-polish black hair and a curly-cue mustache.

Through his pack he had something he thought might be of value to Lord Ibex and it always paid to have something to offer to men like his lord. He had arranged for an audience. He stuck his head around the door and peered at Lord Ibex at the appointed time, adjusting his white tie. He knocked gently on the study door, and the dark haired man looked up sharply before smiling.

"Reginald, welcome. Come in, come in," he waved the werewolf towards his desk. "What can I do for you?" he asked pleasantly.

Spoon smiled as he settled into the chair, "Well, actually I thought I could be of some use to you. I have connections with the vampire clans and I thought that perhaps I could feel them out for you?"

Ibex hummed for a moment, staring at him with critical eyes and Reginald fidgeted with the brim of his hat. "I think so. Thank you," Ibex nodded. "Do keep me posted," he added.

"Of course, my lord," he said with a bow, and left.

* * *

Achelous Doric had been here since the Romans and had watched humans come and go, and they often did more damage than good. Very few had ever been worth his time and unsurprisingly, given his own past, all those he deemed worthy were originally magic folk. They made up his clan and it was through them that this Ibex person came to his attention in June 1982. He was reported to be immortal and held a powerful position in wizarding society. Achelous was both curious and incredulous of his claim to human immortality.

Achelous arranged his appointment for the end of June and arrived at the manor Ibex used as his headquarters looking decidedly muggle in a freshly pressed white pinstriped suit. He and his clan rather enjoyed using wizarding prejudice to make them as uncomfortable as possible (when one is immortal, it pays to be easily amused) by looking disconcertingly muggle.

Reginald Spoon, his clanmate Chloris' lover, Lycaon's, alpha, greeted them at the door.

"Good to see you again!" said Chloris, her eyes searching for her lover even as she smiled at Spoon. "This is Achelous Doric, Callisto, Ampyx, and Niobe," she pointed at each person in turn.

" Pleased to meet you," said Spoon, holding out his hand for a handshake. Callisto, being the youngest and therefore more familiar with modern custom, gently encouraged the others to accept the gesture they were all staring at with uncertainty. With a smile, Achelous recovered and shook the offered hand, and the others followed in turn.

Lycaon appeared out of the shadows and Spoon, knowing exactly how she was, allowed her to slip past to greet his beta before asking, "Shall I lead on?"

Achelous nodded and they followed the nervously babbling Spoon up four floors and through a maze of corridors, arriving at last at a study where a dark haired man sat at an opulent tiger oak desk. Upon seeing them, he stood and made his way around the desk to greet them in the center of the room-like an ally or an equal.

He decided that he liked this young man, or at least so far.

* * *

As he greeted the vampires, Harry was impressed. Achelous was tall, tan, and fit with broad shoulder and he spoke with a light accent of some sort. He knew Achelous was Greek, but was unfamiliar with the dialect that he must speak.

Cholris had golden blonde hair and blue eyes and was dressed in a soft, draping dress that was elegantly modest. She reminded Harry of a maiden in an art nouveau painting, soft, gentle and serene. Niobe was Chloris' opposite, in coloring and personality, being pale skinned, and having dark hair and smirking green eyes the color of olives. She was wearing precious little and both Spoon and Richard were eying her—not that Harry found it easy to ignore her either. She was much closer, he felt, to the general opinion that many held that vampires were the snobs of the undead. Callisto looked like she had walked in off the beach, with platinum blonde hair and ice blue eyes against golden brown skin. Very nice legs peeped out from under her blue sarong skirt and she wore a barely-buttoned blue shirt, open at the collar, buttoned over the necessities, and it hung open again from there down. A faint smile hovered on her lips and she seemed to be examining Harry rather intently.

Ampyx was smiling, dressed in sweeping midnight blue robe. He looked faintly amused, an archaic smile hovering on his lips.

"Please," Harry smiled, gesturing at a circle of chairs and couches, "sit down." As they complied, Harry called an elf and within a few minutes there was pot of tea and a green glass bottle on the small table that sat in the middle. There was a small china cup in front of the lowest seat, which also sat a little bit out of the circle. Crystal flute glasses sat before the other seats and Callisto raised an eye brow.

Harry smiled a little, "I took the liberty of providing appropriate refreshments."

They smiled as they settled into their seats. "So," Achelous said, "what exactly can you do for us?"

"Well," Harry said, as he perched on the edge of his chair, "what I was thinking..."

Later-much later-Achelous knew he liked Ibex. The man had a plan and it was a good one. "We'll join," he said, "but we will not carry your mark."

Ibex nodded, "I hardly expected as much. You will need, however, something to show that you are our allies, so I took the liberty of having something forged." He pulled out a small box, which turned out to contain several small gold and silver pins in the same shape as his mark.

Achelous picked one up and examined it, feeling the magic imbued in the metal. "They will do," he said, pinning it to his lapel.

* * *

Fenrir became aware of himself as the pale moon set on the western horizon, standing over the sprawled body of a girl. She was young—not yet out of Hogwarts, perhaps, and had been pretty in life. Her face was slack and her mangled corpse had had vast chunks of flesh ripped out of it now. Snapped bones stuck out of her skin, pulling it grotesquely taut; snagged flesh on shards of bone. Wild snarls of long, curly black hair splashed around her head and there were threads of her hair in his mouth.

He tasted panic on his tongue.

* * *

Reginald Spoon came scurrying into the study, a looked of spiteful joy on his face. "My lord!" he called as he crossed the carpet, "my lord! There is news!"

Harry cocked an eyebrow, "I assume there must be, if you're invading my study when you would otherwise be recovering from last night."

Spoon flushed as he came to a halt before Harry's desk. "My apologies, my lord. But Greyback failed you last night, and a girl is dead because of it!"

Harry's eyes narrowed, "What?"

"A girl—Metope Pigeons—died last night. Greyback killed her."

His expression darkened, "Capture him—use whatever resources you have but do it quietly! Bring him in alive. I will deal with him. You are dismissed. Richard!" he called.

Spoon fled as Richard came into the study from a side room.

"My lord?"

"Call Rabastan, Rudolphus, Malfoy, and Dolohov. Now!" Richard, having never been actually yelled at by Ibex, rushed towards the fireplace to place a Floo call to the Lestrange brothers and calling a house elf along the way to summon Dolohov.

Harry would be _damned_ if he'd let the backlash from Greyback's enormity harm everything else he had built.

* * *

The news sounded through the pack grapevine and Remus looked shocked as Ferdinand Berry, beta of the ragtag Welsh pack, recounted the story.

"...and Ibex is absolutely out for his _blood_. I almost pity Greyback. This time he didn't intend to target anyone and he's going to be killed." Ferdinand fiddled with the chain of his pocket watch, "'Almost' being the key word there. He bit me 'coz my mum rebuffed his advances. I don't blame her a bit, though," he laughed. "She wad married, a mother, and he's dreadfully ugly!"

Remus shook his head, both at the news and his friend. "You think it'll hurt us?"

Ferdinand shook his head. "Ibex has too much invested in the packs to let it affect anything. The poor girl's death will be played off as something like a rabid animal or a nasty fall, but Greyback will die none the less-Ibex will have a spectacular punishment up his sleeve for the bastard. I heard from Ibex's own aide that he wanted to kill Greyback instead of letting him join after he heard what Greyback did for fun. Didn't though. He didn't want to scare off the rest of the packs, or so Richard said."

Remus looked over at Ferdinand over his pint, "Did you join?"

"Yup!" he said cheerfully. "Good thing, too. He encourages his human followers to hire us, and I got a nice little job as a coach driver for one of his advisers. Pays decently, and he keeps me on retainer."

"He keeps you, his _coachman_ , on retainer?" asked Remus dubiously.

"I think he might be gay, actually. I don't mind; a job's a job and as long as he doesn't do more than ogle me, I don't actually care. I don't blame him a bit, though. After all," Ferdinand spread out his arms, puffing out his chest with a grin. "I'm _gorgeous_."

"Dunno," said Remus with a laugh, "Can't say the gay blokes I know would go for a skinny redhead with an unhealthy love for velvet green vests."

Ferdinand sniffed. "Just because _you_ have a never-ending love affair with cardigans does not mean my affection for green velvet is unhealthy. I do, if you recall, have a maroon one for special events."

"Like I pay attention to your wardrobe," replied Remus with an eye roll.

Ferdinand merely grinned.

* * *

**"More than being careful of what you wish for, be careful what you ask! You may not always like the answer."-CRA**

* * *

Dumbledore, Sirius, James, and Lily all looked up expectantly at him from their dinner as he entered Lily's kitchen. "Sorry I'm late. Took me a while to get Ferdinand to let me go," he said with a laugh.

"Good friend of yours?" asked Sirius with slightly narrowed eyes.

"Jealous, Padfoot?" Remus asked with amusement as he hung up his cloak. "Yes, a good friend, but not a Marauder. Never fear, your status as one of my best friends isn't in jeopardy! You shall always hold a special place," he said gallantly, "as my all-time favorite git."

Dumbledore sighed impatiently at their banter as Sirius responded, "I'm glad to see you in a good mood after your meeting. May I assume that your mood is indicative of a fruitful conversation?"

Remus could see why Ibex called it 'prodding.' "Yes, Albus," he said, settling down at the place that had been set for him and accepted the bowls of food that made their way to him, scooping salad and green beans onto his plate and snagging a pork chop. "Ibex is going to kill Greyback—who is indeed responsible for the disappearance of Metope Pigeons."

"Why is he so angry?" asked Lily curiously. "I'd have thought that he wouldn't care about someone as insignificant as Pigeons."

Dumbledore debated the wisdom of revealing a little about Ibex as the others murmured curiously. "I suspect he may be a time traveler, Lily, and many of his interactions with us are colored by what he knew of or experienced with what would have been our future selves. I'd say he knew of someone who suffered at the hands of Greyback and so that magnified his importance in Ibex's eyes." Dumbledore privately suspected it was Remus who had suffered.

Lily's eyes rounded to enormous proportions. " _A time traveler?_ " she breathed. "He just _violated every_ SINGLE law governing time travel!"

"I'd say not," said Remus as he speared a few green beans, "since he's not overtly insane, and we seem to be still in existence despite his presence for almost a year. It certainly explains a few things that have been puzzling me, too."

"Too right," muttered James. He squinted at the green bean bowl for a while and his eyes widened as he came to a conclusion. "What could have _possibly_ happened to make him like that?" James was horrified, angry, and confused.

Sirius watched Dumbledore sigh to himself as Lily and Remus followed James's thought process, leaving him in the dust. "Can someone explain to me what epiphany you just had?"he asked plaintively.

"Ibex is what Harry could have become if he hadn't interrupted the time line!" Lily exclaimed. She turned on Dumbledore, "When did you figure it out?" she demanded, glaring at him furiously.

Dumbledore looked calmly at her, "Recently. I put two and two together, as he put it, and confronted him. He was obliging enough to explain. Apparently, if he hadn't interrupted, the future would have been extraordinarily bloody. Voldemort would have killed you two," he pointed at James and Lily, "and would have tried to kill Harry and would have failed because of the prophecy, ending with his almost-not-quite death. Harry would have been raised by your sister, Lily, because, among other things, Sirius would have ended up in Azkaban." He mowed over James and Sirius's angry exclamations, explaining briefly the events that would have lead to Harry and his friends' months of torture, the massive casualty lists ("Including you, Remus." "What?"), and the ruination of England.

"So far," Dumbledore finished, "he's not been nearly as bad as anything he saw out of Voldemort, and has, if nothing else, helped the werewolves."

Remus, still shocked by the revelation that the little black haired cherub in the next room could have become a Dark Lord, nodded. "And most of us have joined him, even Ferdinand."

"That could be useful," hummed Dumbledore.

"We could be, too," said James uncertainly, and Sirius nodded.

Dumbledore hesitated, "He has placed some mental distance between people he loved and their current selves. You're not the person he knew as his godfather, Sirius and he hopes you will never be-Azkaban is not a kind place. While I think his remaining affections might make him less likely to kill you, I don't think it would stop him if you pushed him far enough.

"And James," he said, looking at the man who was still adjusting to the idea that he was, biologically speaking, Ibex's father, "he never knew you as anything more than a memory colored by other people and you stand less of a chance than Remus or Sirius, his father or not. I think it would be best for you all to stay away from him. He'd prefer that his younger self grows up with family and be who he never got to be, but if you irritate him enough, he wouldn't hesitate to kill you."

They all nodded, seeming to be having trouble getting around the idea that Ibex was capable of warm emotions at all. Admittedly a difficult tasked after the likes of Voldemort. More than that, they were reeling in shock from the fact that Ibex was family.

"Why?" Sirius asked, "Why did he come back?"

"Power," Dumbledore said simply, "and a need to connect with or control people who shaped his life. He's fundamentally twisted—the torture and loss may have snapped something within him, and I think he's a bit mad. He came back but can't connect with us, so he changed the course of events. I don't think he sees quite it that way, though." Dumbledore paused, attempting to frame this delicately, "I suspect he knows that you would eventually figure out that he was your son, as he stressed that Harry is never going to be him, and he can never be who Harry will become. Don't let him taint your relationship with Harry."

All four of his dinner companions puffed up indignantly, and Lily squawked, "I would _never_ let that man interfere with my son!"

* * *

**"For the great Gaels of Ireland  
Are the men that God made mad,  
For all their wars are merry  
And all their songs are sad."**   
_Eamon de Valera_

* * *

Severus Snape well and truly hated Deluge meetings. They always began with a positive progress report, followed by the induction of ever more members, and ended with a rousing speech that informed them of what was still to be done. After that, Severus had to deal with the various captains he had set up to lead the teams that carried out the assignments that made his section of the Deluge tick.

Part of the reason Severus hated meetings so much was that they always had good news and Ibex was slowly building a solid framework for his eventual take over. Another part had to do with the deep devotion so many carried for Ibex. It was every bit as much a cult of personality as Voldemort had had, but of a different sort; Ibex was revered while Voldemort had been utterly feared.

The world was improving under Ibex's hand, and if there was anything people liked, it was idealism and the lining of their pockets. Ibex did both, as he had been right when he said that the more people involved with the economy, the more money there would be.

Tonight, however, was a meeting of a different kind and it could be felt in the very air. The crowd milled restlessly as they waited.

Something dropped out of midair and landed on the marble floor with a clang and a moan. Severus was almost sickened when he realized that the charred mass of flesh and carved lead runes was a man. Ibex appeared out of the shadows, his face set in an icy mask as he glided up the steps. Reaching the top of the dais, he turned and surveyed them. Silence immediately descended on the crowd and they turned their attention to their lord.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he called, "what you see before you is what results when someone disobeys me. What you see before you is Fenrir Greyback, the man responsible for the death of Metope Pigeons. He had all the tools to prevent her death at his fingertips but failed to take advantage of them, both deliberately disobeying me and causing an unnecessary death that could have spelled disaster for all the progress the werewolf community has made. I want you to witness the last stage of his punishment. If you have a weak stomach, I advise you to avert your eyes," he finished and with a flick, summoned a vat of silver liquid; an enormous obsidian rod was stirring the concoction, clicking as it hit the side of the tub. Greyback whimpered when he managed to pry open his eyes and he started sobbing when Ibex descended the stairs.

He made a complicated little motion with his wand, and a ball of liquid arose, hovering in the air and spinning slowly as it glinted in the light. "This is an alloy of mercury and silver," he explained over the sobs. With astounding gentleness, he guided the ball lower and brushed it across Greyback's skin, leaving behind a gelatinous trail of shimmering liquid. The skin began to smoke and bubbles formed under the hardening metal. He brushed the ball across another swathe of flesh, rolling over shoulder blades and ribs that were etched with metal.

Greyback screamed, the high pitched howl echoing in the room. Severus's neighbor winced and a young man to his left didn't seem to be breathing. He tapped the young man's shoulder, intending to prevent the silly prat from passing out as he tried to ignore the howls of pain as Ibex turned Greyback over and continued painting.

The werewolf had nearly screamed himself hoarse and was making pitiful little whimpering noises when Ibex finally took a brutal kind of pity on his and guided the ball of silver into his mouth, and presumably down his throat. Greyback convulsed violently, arching off the floor in a gran mal seizure and then lay still.

Ibex looked up at the crowd, eyes narrowed dangerously. "Obey me."

Severus had forgotten the brutality.

* * *

That night Harry drank himself to sleep, humming drunkenly along with the Wireless to _Danny Boy._

_"But if ye come and all the flowers are dying_

_If I am dead, as dead I well may be,_

_You'll come and find the place where I am lying_

_And kneel and say an Ave there for me."_

Later, when he was sober, he would wonder why this death-it was only Greyback after all-had effected him so much.

* * *

Lily closed her eyes against Snape's report and leaned over to James. "We're raising Harry as a pacifist."

James nodded fervently.


	6. Memories

" **I drink to our ruined house, to the dolor of my life, to our loneliness together; and to you I raise my glass, to lying lips that have betrayed us, to dead-cold pitiless eyes, and to the hard realities; that the world is brutal and coarse, that God, in fact, has not saved us."** —Anna Akhmatov

_Harry managed to spare a thought to thank Merlin for Severus Snape and his wonderful portkey as he tried to hold up Hermione. She was weak from starvation and torture, and Harry thought her leg might be broken. He was in barely better shape and they were both filthy and exhausted. Hermione tucked her face against his shoulder, whimpering and lifting her left leg off the ground. He hoisted her up a little and she whimpered again. She must have bruised or broken ribs, he thought._

" _Come on, just a bit further...I don't think he risked his life to get us out just to leave us too far away to get help," Harry murmured to her and she nodded, attempting to limp along with him through the misty rain._

_They walked—Harry lost track of for how long they trekked through scraggly scrub trees and swathes of drowned grass under the grey sky. They were in their eight millionth patch of scrub when a rail thin, grey haired man silently appeared, holding them at wand point, his eyes narrowed and alert in the cloudy gloom. "Who are you?" he demanded tersely._

_Harry and Hermione looked at him blearily, taking a moment to register that this was_ Remus _. "I'm Harry," Harry said blankly. "Harry Potter."_

" _Prove it," Remus's voice was tight and cold. "I shan't react well to a liar wearing Harry and Hermione's faces, you know."_

" _Um," Harry racked his exhausted brain for something. "When you resigned, I came to your classroom and you were packing up. There was a swing album on your old gramophone. My Uncle Vernon didn't attend my parents' wedding. Molly Weasley's garden—before the war—was overflowing with gnomes and geraniums.""_

" _Harry suggested to Sirius that they paint over his mother's portrait..."Hermione interjected, her face tight with pain_

_With each statement, Remus paled and his eyes widened. After Harry mentioned the wedding and Hermione spoke of Sirius's remedy to Mrs. Black, Remus swept them both up into a crushing hug._

" _They claimed you died," he murmured into Harry's hair, "when they dumped Ron's body in the ruins of Diagon. It's been hard, so_ hard _," his voice cracked, "since you disappeared..." He held them for a moment and stepped back. Hermione panted, releasing the air she had been holding as she had valiantly bore Remus's hug._

_Immediately, he look contrite, "I'm so sorry, Hermione. I should have realized..." he trailed off and went into mother hen mode, gently hoisting Hermione's other side._

_Remus took them back to the safe house the remnants of the Order was using at the moment. It was little more than a sad little shack in a small wet valley and as they approached, it truly started raining. By the time the reached the door, they were drenched and Hermione was chattering with cold, shivers wracking her too-thin frame._

_Remus opened the door and helped them over the threshold and there was a cry and the crack of breaking crockery. An aged and grey Molly Weasley rushed forward, tears creeping down her wrinkled face. She looked like she wanted to sweep them up in a crushing hug and never let go but she stopped, her eyes darting to meet Remus's. He nodded and she started to cry, wrapping both Harry and Hermione in an immense hug._

" _I thought—we thought—you_ died _," she said softly._

_Harry gave a shallow smile, "I should have—nearly did more than once...Can we get Hermione looked at please?"_

" _Oh Merlin, Hermione! I'm sorry!" she looked at the pale, exhausted, and cold Hermione, who was still standing with Harry's help. "Charlie!" she called, turning around, "Charlie! We could use you, please!"_

_Charlie appeared out of the shadowed staircase and stopped dead on the bottom step, eyes narrowed._

" _They're Harry and Hermione, I swear," said Remus._

_Charlie seemed reassured by that and stepped off the staircase, clinically examining them. He pulled out his wand and ignored Harry and Hermione's involuntary wince, casting diagnostic spells. "Remus, take Hermione to the sitting room. She's worse off. Mum," he turned to her, "Harry needs food and some fairly basic healing charms."_

_Molly nodded and lead Harry to the kitchen, and Harry couldn't help but cast a backward glance at Hermione as Remus helped her into the sitting room. There was a seat at the counter she insisted he sit at. He obliged and dropped his head on to the counter, finally resting. She let him be for a while, pottering around the kitchen and fixing him a small plate of food and casting the charms._

" _Eat slowly," was all she said as she pushed a bit of potatoes and beans towards him._

_He nodded and slowly ate what was there and drank the nutritive potion that followed._

" _Tell me," she said quietly, settling into a chair next to him._

 _Harry paused, attempting to decide if he wanted —if he was_ ready— _to tell the story. Thoughts jangled in his head, incoherent, and too calm. That, he noticed, was not quite right. "I..." he started, "triggered the taboo..." he went on, explaining the capture and months (he thought) of torture and agony. When he spoke of Rookwood taunting him, telling him how Ron had shat his pants as he died, something broke and the tears flooded. She held his hand as he finally cried over his best friend's death._

_When the tears had stopped and Harry was scrubbing salty tracks off his face, she asked gently, "How did you escape?"_

" _Snape," he told her softly. "He did what he could to keep us alive—slipped us nutritive potions and healed the worst of it. I know he saved me a few times and god only knows how many times he did that for Hermione."_

_Molly nodded._

_Later that night after looking in on a peacefully sleeping Hermione, Harry took a shower and he slouched against the wall, slowly sliding down to the floor, feeling disconnected, sore, exhausted, and cracked as the dirt was washed away in a whirl of tainted water._

_He rested his head against his forearms on his knees, feeling the slick liquid trickle down his skin and the splash of the spray on the wall behind him._

* * *

" **Tyger, tyger, burning bright, in the forests of the night; what immortal hand or eye could frame thy fearful symmetry?** **"**

* * *

Achelous was at the next major upper hierarchy meeting, lounging absently in a chair with his long ocher robes artfully draped over his body and pooling at the base of the chair. His pin glinted in the firelight, catching the attention of the others. They eyed him with curiosity as they waited for Ibex, who was running a few minutes late.

The door opened and Ibex slipped into the room. "Sorry," he said, moving toward the head of the table, "got held up." He settled in his chair and looked expectantly at his human minions with a nod for Achelous. "Reports?" he asked. They made their reports and passed documents up the table to Richard and then Ibex nodded solemnly. "Excellent. Everyone, this is Achelous Doric, head of the London clan. He and his clan are allies. You are to treat them accordingly."

The Delugians nodded collectively, and a slow and wicked smile spread across Achelous's lips, baring gleaming white teeth in the firelight. They shivered.

" _Vampires?"_ hissed James. "Is there a level he _won't_ sink to?"

Remus shot him a harsh glare, "Society breeds its own enemies, James, and _that_ attitude is fodder for incipient hatred."

James looked apologetic. "I'm sorry...it's just that, well..."

"Vampires are darker than werewolves?" asked Remus coolly. "Only because you make them so."

* * *

" **Whoever controls the media, the images, controls the culture."** ~ _Allen Ginsberg_

* * *

Harry had been turning over a problem in his mind. He needed good, solid public exposure from a source he could control. The newspaper was the simplest and most immediate answer but there was also the potential for a pamphlet campaign. He wasn't sure which was the best option but at the moment he was leaning towards a pamphlet campaign; Harry would have immediate control over what was said and when it was said.

He brought it up at the next inner hierarchy meeting.

"So," he asked, "any thoughts?"

Doar rubbed his chin, "There's always that Skeeter bint. You could force her to assist us."

While Harry contemplated this, Rabastan piped up.

"Is there any real need to publicize you yet, my lord?" he asked. "We could just wait until after the coup to do it. I dare say that a good portion of the population already knows you exist, since you encouraged us to speak of you."

Harry hummed in agreement. "I had forgotten about that. We should perhaps slip things into the news anyway—information we want to distribute as carefully and subtly as possible. Skeeter would be useful for that."

Rabastan wrinkled his nose, "My lord, if I may remind you, Skeeter is as subtle as a blunted ax."

"True," agreed Harry, wishing he could get around his impressions of Rita from his old time line more effectively. "Her editor, Frank Higgins, is a member, right? We can have him slip information in the paper, then. Vernon Helms can take care of that, I hope?" he asked the room at large. "Tell me if you think he can't—I don't want to have this bungled because we picked the wrong man for the mission."

Jacob Tolson and Richard Hoover looked at each other. "Gerald Cohn might be a better choice, my lord. He's more subtle than Helms and better at dealing with people anyway," Hoover explained.

Tolson nodded in agreement. "He's young, but clever and I'll oversee him if you'd like."

"Please do," Harry commented.

A few hours later, when everything was hashed out, Harry greeted a young woman at his door. Eudocia Holloway was short and curvy, with curly blonde hair and a wicked smile.

"Pleased to meet you, my lord," she said smoothly.

"Indeed," he replied, shaking her out stretched hand. "Lycaon and Spoon speak highly of you."

She gave him a faint smile, "I shall have to thank them."

Harry gave her an amused look and gestured her into the study, where they settled down on a pair of brown and cream couches, a pot of tea on the coffee table between them.

"So," he said, "as I understand it, you are in charge of your pack's dealing with me and mine."

"I am," she agreed. "If at all possible, as the elected representative of _all_ the packs who have joined, I would like to sit in on meetings when they deal with us."

Harry paused, digesting this new information, "Actually, I think you should sit in on the first hierarchy meetings."

She flashed him a genuine smile, "I'd be honored."

* * *

" **Don't force it; use a bigger hammer."**

* * *

Harry had another issue to contemplate—what to do with Snape? Half out of spite he was going to keep him, but Harry saw no point in using his talents if he didn't have to. He had asked Rabastan to look through the human Delugians and the vampires and werewolves to look through their own ranks.

In the end, he had three at his disposal—Arcas, who was a tall and slender Caribbean werewolf from St. Andrew's, a young Delugian named Francis, and Callisto, all of whom were willing to help if he wanted something. They all had different areas of expertise and both Arcas and Callisto were as good or better than Snape, respectively, and Francis, whom both Arcas and Callisto had taken a liking to, would be as good as they were someday.

He called Snape to a private meeting, choosing to interrupt the man's first free Saturday of the spring holidays, staging the audience in the ballroom, rather than in the study or over lunch as was customary for first hierarchy.

"My lord," he greeted with a low bow.

Harry looked down at him from the throne nonchalantly. "Severus," he acknowledged. "How are you?"

Snape blinked, "Well enough, considering term is still in session."

Harry titled his head back and forth, "Why do you teach, if you hate it so much?"

"It pays well," Snape said and then his face went smooth as a polite mask slipped over his features. "Was there something you wished to speak about with me?"

Inwardly, Harry smiled. "There was."

A long pause, "...And what was it, if I may inquire?"

"To inform you of two things. One, I am aware you are Dumbledore's man. I knew that when you took my mark so I don't consider it a betrayal nor are you in any danger for it. I also commend your undying devotion to a woman who won't give you the time of day," he added and smiled wickedly when Snape blanched. "Two, I no longer require your services as a potions master."

Obviously having difficulties schooling his features into a mask, Snape ground out, "Then what do you require of me?"

"Require? Nothing, but you do have an option on the table—continue operating your section of the Deluge."

"And if I do not wish to do so?" There was a hint of challenge in his voice.

"Then," Harry said, "you can give up your position and join the rank and file of the Deluge."

Snape's jar dropped open for a moment and then he shut it with an audible click. "Do I have time to consider?"

Harry nodded, "You have two days."

* * *

" **Not liking the consequence is not the same thing as not having a choice."**

* * *

Severus Snape had just been rendered obsolete. He knew Ibex— _Harry fucking Potter—_ well enough by now to know there was no way he would be let go. Whatever his future self had done to him as a boy was clearly enough to make him enjoy making Severus's life miserable, but not enough for Ibex to kill him no how much Snape sometimes wished he would. In fact, he would guess Ibex knew that and would therefore never actually kill him, just for spite.

He contemplated the options his lord had presented him as he walked up the long drive to Malfoy Manor, watching the colorful peacocks strut past the white gravel path.

The way Ibex was doing things at the moment meant that it didn't matter if Dumbledore knew about them since he couldn't do anything about them anyway. He used the same tactics (up to a point) and what Ibex was doing wasn't illegal. And when it came time for illegal things to start happening, Severus wouldn't know until it was far too late to do anything.

On the other hand, thinking about the mockery his new-found peers would heap on him if he stepped down made his fists clench in anger.

Better...better to stay where he was, operating a section of the machine that would take over the UK. At least then, he would have some sway and perhaps be able to take out a cog or two. Maybe that would be enough.

* * *

" **It [the Cheshire Cat] vanished quite slowly, beginning with the end of the tail, and ending with the grin, which remained some time after the rest of it had gone."** **—** Lewis Carroll

* * *

There was a full circle meeting over dinner one evening in early June at Malfoy Manor and both Narcissa Malfoy and Draco Malfoy were in attendance, as well as other spouses and children.

Draco was currently sitting on his uncle Rudolphus's knee, smiling at his parents and giggling. He was two years old and far different than the Draco Harry had known. _That_ Draco had killed himself when he was twenty out of desperation. Voldemort had strung his body up from the balconies of Malfoy Manor, a ghastly gargoyle above the front door. Narcissa had followed, though she had chosen to taken Macnair and Bellatrix with her by blowing up an entire room in the manor.

Harry shook his head— _this_ Draco and _this_ Narcissa would not walk that path. Looking around he saw the upper crust of the Deluge and their families, but not the werewolves or vampires who were supposed to be attending.

Ah, there they were. They streamed into the room and conversing before stopping to acknowledge Harry and the Malfoys. Callisto approached, wearing a faint smirk that screamed _I know something you don't know!_ and then he heard Lucius's soft gasp. Harry gave him a sidelong glance and saw his face abruptly snap back into smooth politeness.

Callisto looked like the cat who had got the canary and after the usual formalities, she slipped back into the crowd.

After the last of the newcomers had been greeted, Harry watched Callisto as she sipped a blood cocktail and leaned against a wall. Her face fit right in with the ancestor portraits on the wall and a few of them were trying to stare at her around their frames. One of them spoke and she replied, baring blood soaked teeth. He backed down and slipped out of his portrait, before leaping up and vaulting himself out of the frame of his neighbor's painting. He raced across the arched ceiling's fresco (which depicted Bacchus and Zeus drinking in a forest), dodging clusters of grapes and drunken donkeys.

He noticed a green-looking Lucius was watching, too, as the man scuttled through the small wood and dropped down into a portrait of a sour looking man. He whispered something to the man and they both disappeared, slipping out of the painting.

Lucius swallowed and looked away, leaning down to speak softly to his wife. She looked mutely confused and glanced at Callisto, who hadn't moved. Callisto licked her lips like a cat and smiled at her, tilting her head. Narcissa looked away abruptly.

Curious, Harry gradually made his way across the room to Callisto.

"What are you doing?" he asked with amusement, "Besides distressing your hosts, of course."

She smirked, "They're my descendants. It's my _right_ as an elderly relative to distress them."

"How far back?" Harry asked, smiling.

"Four hundred years. I know I've got a portrait here someplace because the current heir recognized me. And I assume there's still a story about my disappearance; or there was last time I talked with any of the family."

"You didn't keep up with them?" Harry asked.

Callisto shook her head. "My son was four when I was turned and I watched him, but after Castor? Why bother? They were just human." She shrugged.

"You were Callisto Malfoy, then?" Harry chuckled. "Sort of fits."

"Sort of," she agreed. "Callisto Doric, now, so it doesn't matter, does it?"

"No, I suppose not," Harry agreed. "Who was it that ran off like that?"

"My late husband," she said with a satisfied smile. "I was quite glad to be rid of him, actually. He was, as they say, a douche bag."

Harry blinked, "A douche bag?"

"Yes. He was an arrogant, evil-minded twit. I was glad to be shot of him."

Harry laughed, "I can understand that. I've met a few people like that over the years."

* * *

" **The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting."** _~ Sun Tzu_

* * *

The first Thursday morning of break found Albus Dumbledore drinking tea and reading the paper, prior to heading down to the Great Hall. This was a _disaster_. Ibex (he couldn't bring himself think of the man as Harry) had a thumb in every pie and was slowly building a solid platform on which he could stand. He had people from every sector—purebloods, muggleborns, the poor, the rich—at his beck and call. He hadn't done very much that would create resentment.

The only major weak points Dumbledore could see were the fact that the man was a time traveler and of questionable sanity. Certainly, they were enormous weak points but he couldn't prove either of them. Yet. Time could perhaps reveal a chance to de-rail Ibex's plans.

* * *

**"Of course I'm crazy, but that doesn't mean I'm** _**wrong** _ **. I'm mad but not ill."-R.A. Wilson,** _**Werewolf Bridge** _

* * *

Lily desperately wanted to meet the man who was and wasn't her son. She waited and hoped and waited some more. She was rewarded most unexpectedly while hunting for potion ingredients in the gloomy woods outside Glasgow. She hadn't thought much of the anti-apparation wards-she would have set some up herself, but appeared there was or had been another forager here recently.

Searching for sweet roses, she caught a glimpse of her fellow forager and did a double take. Ibex!

Lily watched him for some time as he picked through vines and bushes and eventually he looked up, turning his head to search the surroundings like a deer. She hadn't hidden and he caught sight of her. Ibex raised an eyebrow and went back to what he was doing, ignoring her.

"...Harry?" she called tentatively, creeping towards him. "Can I talk to you?"

He turned at the sound of his name, startled, and then looked amused, "I suppose, Mrs. Potter. A question though, do _all_ of you have some inane need to confront me?"

"I don't want to confront you, just talk," she said, stopping a few feet from him.

"What about?" he asked casually, picking a bit of moss off delicate white flower.

"Dumbledore told us some of what you told him—"

"Really now?" Harry interrupted. "Curious. He was always reluctant to share information with us."

"Who was 'us' in the future?" she asked quickly.

"Oh, Remus, Sirius, Shaklebolt, Dumbledore, Minerva, the Weasleys, a few others. If he didn't already tell you, Peter betrayed your family and you died in my original time line, so you were not an us."

"What happened after we—" she swallowed, "—died?"

"I was sent to the Dursleys. Didn't Dumbledore already tell you this?"

"Y-yes, but I want to hear it for myself," she said.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Will my son be as short as you are?" she asked quickly, looking to force him to answer questions about his childhood.

He raised an eyebrow. "I'll choose not take offense to that," and he chuckled when she looked embarrassed, "but no, he probably won't. I...had a rather different childhood than he'll have."

"How different?"

"How's you're relationship with your sister?" Harry asked her.

"We send letters at Christmas and gifts on birthdays. That's it," Lily replied.

Harry seemed to be debating something, tilting his head back and forth. "Are you sure?"

"Sure." She _needed_ these answers.

"As you wish," he shrugged. "I was starved, neglected, abused, and I slept in a cupboard below their staircase. I think Dumbledore overestimated Aunt Petunia's sense of sisterly duty when he hoped she'd take me in," he explained when she blanched. "However, adversity bred character and I survived mostly all right."

Lily nodded blankly, trying to understand a mother who would leave a _toddler_ into a closet.

"Have I answered your questions?" he asked.

"What did they _do_ to you?" Lily asked, still caught in the horror of _her_ _child_ being left in a closet.

"Who?" Harry asked. "There were a lot of people over the years, Mrs. Potter, who did various things to me."

"Explain. All of it," she demanded, trying desperately not to think about her baby shut in tiny, dark cupboard.

"You really don't want me to," he said calmly.

"I _need_ to understand you! You're my son!"

Harry tilted his head side to side again, "True, on both counts, but only in a biological sense. I think I explained that to the Headmaster at some point."

She shook her head, "I don't know if you did or did not—he didn't say."

"Mm, well, I think you'll regret it if I give into your demands and tell you everything," he said, twirling the flower between his fingers.

"No I won't," she insisted. "Tell me!"

Harry shook his head. "It doesn't matter." He turned to leave, and she planted herself firmly in front of him, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. He laughed at Lily, "Move, Mrs. Potter."

"No."

He narrowed his eyes in return, "May I remind you that I _am_ a Dark Lord?"

"But you're also a person."

"True," he agreed. "What's that got to do with it?"

"All people have some sort of attachment to their mothers," Lily stated.

Harry rolled his eyes, "I am absolutely not interested in talking to you about this."

"Tell. Me."

"No," Harry disagreed. And then he paused. "But I will give you a few of the less grisly memories, if you like. But don't say I didn't warn you," he said, reaching into his cloak and pulling out a glass phial. He paused and stared at her, obviously waiting for an answer.

"Fine," she said tersely, starting to deflate as she remembered exactly who she was dealing with. She was lucky that he hadn't outright killed her.

He shrugged again, and tucked the flower away before retrieving his wand from the recesses of his cloak. Putting the tip to his temple, he pulled out a few short, silvery memory strands and deposited them in the phial and corked it. They shimmered like mercury as he handed them to her.

After she accepted them, he slipped around her and was disappeared into the shadows.

* * *

 _ **One need not be a chamber to be haunted;  
One need not be a house;  
The brain has corridors surpassing  
Material place.**_  
~Emily Dickinson, _Time and Eternity_

* * *

"You did _what?"_ James nearly screamed.

Lily clapped a hand over his mouth. "Shut up!" she hissed. "I'm alive, aren't I? You don't need to yell." Holding out the phial of memories, she added, "He gave me these. We need a pensive."

"What is this ' _we'_ you speak of?" James practically spat, "I don't need to know nor do I care about whatever it is in there." He pointed at the phial.

"Fine," she sniffed. "Fine. I'll watch them by myself."

"Whatever," he said, stalking off and muttering to himself about _'crazy woman'_ and _'fucking insane...'_

Glaring at his retreating back, she set about acquiring a pensive to view the memories in.

A week passed before Dumbledore gave in and allowed her to borrow his pensive, on the condition that she allow him to view the contents. And after putting Harry to bed, she poured the phial out into the basin and dove in.

The world spun, and she landed in a dungeon cell, complete with manacles hanging from the wall and a figure hunched on a pile of straw in the corner.

Thumping steps could be heard approaching and the figure's head snapped up; it was a grungy, thin, and very young Harry, covered with burns, scars, and open wounds. The door opened and a man entered the room, a smug smirk on his face and his wand in his hand.

"Hello, Potter. How are we this evening?"

Harry didn't respond, shirking back to the wall, his eyes wary and careful.

"Speak when spoken to, Potter," the man said lazily and cast a Crucio.

Harry's jaw clenched tight and he dropped back against the straw before letting out a pitiful scream as his body shook with pain. After a moment, the man let up, leaving him gasping.

"My lord would be _most_ upset if I turned you into a vegetable," he said lightly. With a flick of his wand, a small tray floated through the doorway and landed with precision before Harry. "Eat it while it's hot, boy." With that, he slipped out the door.

As the bolts were thrown and the locks clicked shut, Harry leaned over and vomited. After emptying his stomach, he flopped back and weakly watched the steam drift up from what appeared to be a bowl of hot gruel.

The scene swirled and came to a stop, showing a _different_ cell and an age-ravaged Bellatrix kneeling over Harry's prone form, a glinting knife in hand. His body was covered in neat, evenly spaced square cuts and his skin looked like a bleeding quilt. She leaned down, slipping the pointed blade beneath his skin, "Take the skin and peel it back...now, doesn't that feel better?" she asked kindly as she pried a square of skin loose. Blood poured from the wound and Harry let out a cracking groan and a hoarse whimper as she dropped the square of skin on the floor with a wet splat.

Lily's stomach turned and just as she thought she might vomit, the world spun again and she wold herself staring at the inside of a cupboard, lit by a single light bulb dangling from the angled ceiling.

A thin and tiny Harry—looking no more than five or six years old—was fiddling with a small plastic knight and his horse, making all the little noises children make when playing. There was a thud and Harry panicked, shoving his toys under the cot.

The door was thrown open and a fat man roared at him, " _GET OUT HERE!"_

It took Lily a moment to register that it was Vernon doing the yelling as Harry scrambled out of the cupboard and ducked under his arm, dodging a heavy-handed swipe. She followed him out and saw her sister staring angrily at Harry. "Boy—chores. The list is on the table. At eight years old, we shouldn't have to get you up in the morning."

 _Eight?_ She thought, _Eight?_ _He can't possibly be eight—he's so little!_

Harry flushed and picked up the list. After reading it, he pulled out scrubbing brushes and bleach power from the cupboard under the kitchen sink and set off upstairs.

"No food for two days if I have to get you up again, boy," Vernon added as the small boy trudged upstairs.

He nodded dully and made his way up the staircase again.

_Spin._

Harry—at Hogwarts, if the uniform proved anything—yelling at a man in a purple turban. The man sneered and spoke. His face paused, he seemed to be speaking to someone neither Lily or Harry could see. He started to unwind the turban and turned around as a face emerged from the back of his skull, thin-lipped and evil-eyed.

_Spin._

Sirius falling through a veil in a dark amphitheater and Harry screaming, fighting Remus who was holding him back. Lily moved around them, expecting to see Sirius on the other side. She was mystified to see a faintly swaying curtain but no Sirius.

_Spin._

Dumbledore flying off a parapet, Snape looking bitter and resentful, a pale child looking frightened out of his wits, and a horde of jeering Death Eaters.

_Spin._

Snape pulling a girl into Harry's cell and throwing her at him, tossing a book at the two of them—a portkey. They disappeared and she followed, landing in a drowned wood where Harry and the girl stood.

_Spin._

Harry was kneeling at the side of Remus's brutally mangled corpse, staring blankly at him. Next to him, an almost angelic blonde woman lay, looking as though she were asleep. A red haired man—a Weasley she thought—was bent over her body and sobbing, holding her hand.

_Spin._

Lily landed, vertigo making her vision swim. She leaned against a wall for support, looking around. Blood was smeared across a snowy marble floor, like someone had pressed a body against the floor with crushing force and shoved it across the marble, the bones leaving grooves in the stone. Half a head rested against the far wall, separated from the lower part of a torso. Arms that had been torn from their sockets rested halfway between the torso and head.

" _Ron!"_ Harry yelled, screaming in chorus with the girl Lily had seen earlier as they were dragged kicking and screaming into the house. A thin, reptilian-looking man sneered at them and pointed his wand at the girl. She screamed and arched when the spell slammed into her, going limp. Harry turned to hurl abuse at the man, wild-eyed and enraged.

Another spell flare and Harry went limp.

The world began to spin again and Lily jerked herself out of the pensive with a yell, tears streaming down her face.

James rushed in when he heard her yell and found her curled up on the chair, crying and staring at the basin.


	7. Facts and Truths

**Lions: 5, Christians: 0  
**

* * *

Part of Remus very much enjoyed James's discomfiture and squirming as they discussed the vampire bill Lucius Malfoy had just put forward. The other part of him wanted to bash the man's head in. While he understood the conceptual differences between "werewolf" (a mindless biting machine once a month) and "vampire" (a mindful biting machine any time of the month), James still seemed unable to accept the idea that vampires were just as capable of free choice as werewolves.

And it seemed Lily was getting just as annoyed with James as he was; she glowered at him while playing with a sleeping Harry's hand as James continued to hem and haw over how he felt about the bill. It would slowly ease up the restrictions placed on vampires, eventually putting them on par with werewolves and wizards in terms of de jure freedoms.

But what was law and what was real wouldn't—hadn't—matched up immediately in terms of what he as a werewolf was and wasn't allowed to do, even if things had gotten better by leaps and bounds. It was still limiting, not to mention _dangerous_ , to be a lycanthrope. De facto freedom would take a very long time, Remus mused. He hoped that it would be better for any werewolves of Harry's generation (heaven forbid there were any!).  
_

Watching the rest of the Order bicker over a bill that he was both powerless and somewhat reluctant to prevent the passage of, Dumbledore ran over the memories he had recently viewed. It had been eerie to see his own death and eerier still to see that it was _Severus_ who had murdered him. Based on other images—Severus throwing the girl at Ibex and portykeying them away, for example—Dumbledore suspected that there was more to the story than was immediately evident. He supposed he should probably figure out what the story was before he gave in to James's clamoring to see the memories. He wouldn't react well to what he would perceive as betrayal and the justification of his loathing of Severus.

Lily rolled her eyes at Sirius and Remus.

"I still don't understand," Remus said, raising an eyebrow at her from where he sat in an arm chair.

Sirius loomed over Remus's shoulder, his arms crossed over his chest and glaring. "I'm just surprised he didn't kill you, whether you're his mother or not."

She sighed and watched James play with their son for a moment. Harry ran from his father the tickle monster, giggling and tripping over his own feet as James chased him around the sitting room. She looked back at them. "I ran into him, tried to talk to him, and walked away—alive, as you noted—with memories." Lily shuddered. "If those were the less gruesome memories, I _don't_ want to think about what the rest of them are like."

"Describe?" asked Remus, looking like he was on the fence about something.

"Torture, death, loss, abuse, neglect," she said succinctly. "That about sums it up."

"How extensive was it?" Remus asked slowly. "I'm reluctant to view them, since James said they made you cry, but I do want to know what's in them." He said, sounding curious.

She mulled that over. "He lost everyone, just about. You," she pointed at Sirius, "in his fifth year, I think? And you," she looked at Remus, "after Snape helped he and a friend escape You Know Who's custody. Loss and the torture he suffered at Death Eater hands were the worst of the memories. What my sister did to him," her mouth twisted in a sour, angry expression, " _pales_ next to having his skin cut away."

Sirius raised an eyebrow, "What?"

She nodded. "Bellatrix's handy work. She sliced him up and pried squares of skin off with a knife. I imagine he's got some horrendous scarring from that."

Remus looked slightly green. "I bet."

Sirius looked at Remus's nausea and Lily's simmering anger with disinterested calm. "I don't see what the big deal is—look at him now," he said.

"People don't become evil at the drop of a hat, Sirius," Remus pointed out. "There has to be a tipping point."

"And _no_ child deserves what he got!" Lily added indignantly, looking murderous.

Sirius grunted in response and Remus glared at him, "Ibex wasn't _Ibex_ until well after you and I were gone, Sirius. The boy in those memories is your godson and a _child,_ not some dark lord in the making."

Sirius looked unconvinced.

_  
Severus was humiliated; he had been reduced to a messenger boy and a cog—a lowly minion and nothing more. Currently he was on his way to an audience with Ibex, winding through the maze of corridors and staircases. Reaching the dark lord's private study, he knocked on the door and slipped into the room when he was granted permission to enter. Ibex was watching him expectantly as he made his way across the study and gestured for him to sit when he reached the desk. Silence reigned once he sat down, the dark lord waiting for him to speak first, as he usually did.

"I bear a request from the Headmaster," he said neutrally.

"Go on." Ibex leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers in a gesture that uncannily resembled one of Dumbledore's own.

"He and a few, select others would like to meet you on neutral ground to discuss things," Severus said stolidly, staring at the bridge of Ibex's black framed glasses.

Ibex hummed and pushed his glasses up his nose, forcing Severus to meet his eyes. "Such as?"

"That vampire bill you're pushing. The memories you gave Mrs. Potter..." Severus trailed off, waving a hand suggestively.

"Indeed. Did he have suggestions as the location?" Ibex asked.

"No," Severus said tersely.

"Then I shall provide some. A private cafe in Diagon Alley or some place in the Muggle world." He shrugged, "Doesn't matter to me."

"Am I to take that as your agreement to a meeting?" Severus was certain it was, but it never hurt to make sure he knew exactly what was being agreed to.

A nod from Ibex. "Yes. Please ask them to schedule it the afternoon. I'm afraid I am not a morning person unless I've been up all night."

Severus recognized the dismissal for what it was and stood, departing for Dumbledore's office.

"He agreed?" Sirius looked skeptical, arching a dark eyebrow.

"What did you not get about _'yes?'_ " asked Snape angrily. "Are monosyllabic words beyond your understanding, Black?" he sneered.

Sirius opened his mouth to retort when Remus shot him a look and he promptly shut his mouth. Dumbledore noted this with mild amusement before turning back to his potions teacher. "Any specific demands?"

"That you schedule it for the afternoon," Snape said shortly. "He suggested a muggle location or a private cafe in Diagon. I imagine he'll want to make tea out of it or possibly dinner. Ibex tends to have his private meetings over such things."

Sirius looked indignant. "I'll not have _bloody_ _tea_ with him!"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "As I understand it, he is most amicable over food of some sort. It would be logical and more conducive to finding out what he wants by encouraging him to relax."

" _As you understand it?"_ James said, every word scorching with disdain and malicious amusement. "What, never been invited for tea and crumpets?"

Snape gritted his teeth. "I have always been kept at arm's length, due to his history with me and, more likely, to my allegiances."

"Quite probably," Dumbledore agreed before turning to Lily, cutting off further exchanges between the two men. "I would prefer to have this meeting in the muggle world as I do not think he will break the statute of secrecy. Do you have any suggestions?"

"Anderson's in London," Lily said after a moment of thought. "The owner is rather discreet and we can take precautions to ensure it remains private there. He's quite used to eccentric customers, too."

"A date and time?" asked Remus.

"Thursday, July first at three?" Dumbledore put forth. It was after term let out and far enough away to reschedule it if need be.

Several nods, though Snape looked sour at the thought of dealing with the dark lord on his first day of summer.

* * *

 _"Misdirection is possible because of the power of suggestion. It is a psychological fact that the first impulse of people is to believe. Doubting is usually secondary. And the power of suggestion wields a tremendous influence on our lives and opinions."_ **The Art of Honest Deception** _,_ by Vincent C. Gaddis

* * *

The day of the meeting arrived before they knew it, and Ibex was already there when they arrived a few minutes early. He eyed them over his glass of water, sitting at the table in a secluded but brightly lit corner of the cafe, well away from the rest of the patrons.

"Good afternoon," he greeted Lily, James, Remus, Sirius, Dumbledore and Snape as they approached.

There were a variety of reactions: slight smiles and nods, as well as distrustful glares and uncertain or blank expressions as they settled around the table, bunching together at one end of the booth as they tried to keep their distance. Internally, Dumbledore sighed as Sirius glared at Ibex and Lily gazed at him with timid sorrow.

Ibex looked amused. "I generally don't bite," he commented. "That looks uncomfortable—do feel free to spread out a bit."

None of them budged for a moment before Snape gave up and bit the bullet. He got up from his seat at the edge of the booth and settled a good foot away from his lord.

"Good man," Ibex chuckled softly. "Taking one for the team."

Snape retained his carefully blank expression but nodded, reaching for a glass of water from the bunch of them at the center of the table.

Ibex watched them calmly, waiting for a long moment for them to ask a question. When they remained silent, he picked up his menu and perused it. They all awkwardly followed suit and for a while the only sound was the soft slap of plastic covered menu pages being turned and the click of metal page corners. Ibex put his menu down and sipped his water again, studying the London skyline visible over the top of the booth. One by one, the others followed suit and after a while a curvy brunette waitress appeared to take their orders. She looked wary of the tension in the air and disappeared after the first opportunity. Ibex wordlessly met Dumbledore's gaze and then looked again at the skyline.

Remus coughed and Ibex looked back down, meeting his eyes. "May I ask you a question?"

"I was under the impression that this was part of our purpose of this meeting," Ibex replied, giving him a look that left him feeling exposed. "Fire away."

"Albus has suggested that each of us had a place in your life before...returning?" he asked, searching for the word.

"Yes," came the even reply.

"What was I to you? What were the rest of us?" Remus asked after a moment of hesitation.

Ibex looked at him and tilted his head. "A number of things. I assume the rest of you will want to know something similar?"

There were several hesitant noises of agreement.

"Mmm, thought so," he said. Ibex reached into a pocket and smiled when hands sought wands. Four glass phials were produced and he passed them to the recipients. Sirius, Remus, Snape, and Dumbledore all studied them for a moment before tucking them away.

"Please make sure you watch them," Ibex said, examining the lemon floating in his drink. "I think they'll answer all the questions you want to ask me."

"And if they don't?" challenged Sirius.

"Talk to the others and view each set of memories. Then, if you still haven't found an answer, you can ask me at that point." Ibex smiled toothily, "But I won't guarantee I'll tell."

Lily tried to hide her hurt, "Do your father and I get one?"

Ibex blinked. "I don't have any memories of my parents. Or rather, the ones I _do_ have are second hand, so no."

"Second hand?" Remus prompted curiously.

Ibex nodded "Correct."

Remus and the others waited for him to go on but he remained silent, sipping his water instead.

Conversation stalled, despite Lily and Remus's heroic attempts at resuscitating it . Dumbledore remained quiet as well, fiddling with his napkin pensively. Eventually, Lily and Remus gave up and they shifted in uncomfortable silence until the waitress clattered towards them, bearing bowls and plates of food.

Ibex gave her a warm smile as she deposited his pasta in front of him, "Thank you."

She gave him a plastic smile and left as quickly as she could, while Sirius stared at him.

"What?" asked Ibex. "You must always be polite to the people who handle your food. It's a cardinal rule of civilized life," he said lightly.

Sirius blinked and frowned slightly at him before digging into his food.

Half way through the meal, Dumbledore seemed to hit on a conversation topic. "Would you mind telling us about your teachers?" he asked, sounding grandfatherly.

Ibex looked faintly amused and with a shrug he said, "Why not? Most of them were unremarkable, but McGonagall was excellent, as was Flitwick." He smiled at Remus, "And you, Mr. Lupin, were definitely the best defense teacher I ever had. Snape," he turned to look at the man in question with mild amusement, "was what he was. An excellent potioneer, but disinterested in teaching even at the best of times.  
"He seemed far more interested in making me miserable, actually. I think part of it was because I had my mother's eyes—I was a reminder of what could have been, had he not screwed things up royally his fifth year." When both Lily and Snape looked up sharply, he smiled. "I shall leave it there. The other part was because I looked like my father and he assumed I was the same strutting jerk he was in school. It wasn't true of course, but that's what he chose to believe." He shrugged.

Snape looked haughtily at Ibex but remained silent. Ibex smiled, a vicious tinge to his expression. He tilted his head very slightly at Snape who suddenly looked much less haughty and tugged at his right shirt sleeve. Ibex looked back to see Dumbledore watching him avidly and his expression returned to polite kindness. "Does that answer your question?"

Dumbledore shook his head, looking at him over his spectacles. "Remus wasn't your only defense teacher?"

Ibex mirrored the mannerism. "Not by a long shot. I attended six years and had six different teachers. Three Death Eaters, a fraud, an evil Ministry sycophant, and Lupin. Lupin and one of the Death Eaters were excellent, effective teachers and the others...were not," he finished.

"I can't imagine the Headmaster allowing Death Eaters into Hogwarts," Lily said, looking skeptical.

"He knew about one," Ibex said, looking over at Snape for a moment. "The other was possessed by Voldemort and had—ironically—been the Muggle Studies teacher before applying for the position. I suppose he acquired the spirit of Voldemort the summer before I started, so there wasn't too much reason to pay attention to Quirelle's increased oddity, perhaps. The other was masquerading as Mad Eye."

The others looked incredulously at each other.

"Mad Eye?" Remus asked flatly.

"Oh yes," Ibex nodded with a cruel smile. "Got weirder as he got older, I expect. Quite embarrassing for the old fellow when it came to light he had been held hostage in his own trunk. He's got some very distinct mannerisms and was therefore fairly easy to imitate. As long as you get the paranoia, the peg leg, and the eye, everything else is explainable."

"And the fraud?" Snape asked as the others contemplated Mad Eye's stint in a trunk.

"Gilderoy Lockhart. About all he's good at is memory charms, if that tells you anything. _He_ lost his memory that year at least, so I never had to see him again," Ibex looked smugly satisfied.

Ibex fell silent again and waited for someone to give into curiosity, looking at them expectantly.

After a long stretch of silence, James took the bait and asked, "How did he loose his memory?"

A smile. "The Chamber of Secrets was opened that year–"

"–It exists?" Remus cut across him.

Ibex nodded, looking unperturbed, "Indeed it does. It's in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. One of the sinks has a serpent etched on the faucet, speak to it and it'll let you into the chamber. I don't recommend you investigate—it's disgustingly slimy down there and you won't even find the snake."

"I thought those were just _fairy tales,_ " Sirius said tartly.

"If only," Ibex laughed. "That was my second year. There was an incident that made it apparent I speak parseltongue, so everyone thought _I_ opened the Chamber. It was Voldemort again through an unwilling cat's paw. The cat's paw—she was just a little girl—was going to be sacrificed by the memory of Voldemort so he could regain his body. Lockhart was supposed save her and a friend and I figured out where the Chamber was when he couldn't, and we had to go rescue her. He tried to kill us, more or less, and the charm backfired, leaving him sans memory. I went on to try to rescue the girl, and I very nearly died doing it." Ibex rolled up his right sleeve, revealing an old, jagged scar. "I'm very thankful for Fawks, I must say," he commented, running a finger over the raised skin. "If not for him, I'd have died at twelve."

"I'm not sure that would have been a bad thing," Sirius told him, haughty, superior, and cruel.

Ibex's expression chilled and the air seemed to drop several degrees. His voice was soft, but crackled with promise like ice sheets beneath the snow, "I was a _child_. I would have thought someone growing up in Grimmauld would be perhaps more sympathetic but apparently not. I am, I suppose, what you fear you would have become if you had been a Slytherin? I was never shaped by anything so _petty_ as my school house, I assure you.  
"Green and red, silver and gold—those were reminders of better times, of quidditch games and classes, not the world that made me." He looked bitter, staring at the tabletop. "Never that." Ibex looked up at Sirius. "I don't ask or even desire for you to sympathize with _me_ , but the child whom your godson would have become had things gone the way they did the first time. And more than that, I know you—well, perhaps not _you_ , but the others, wish to understand more about me. You, in my time line, were the first of many people I fought for."

Sirius's expression stiffened, but he clearly didn't know how to respond.

Ibex smiled at him, looking cheerful now. With another smile he went back to his pasta and waited for the next question. James and Dumbledore remained silent, wishing not to give into Ibex's power ploy while Snape simply looked resigned. Sirius glared at the upholstery to Ibex's immediate right, while Lily and Remus seemed to be considering something and they would periodically murmur something to each other.

After a while longer, Remus spoke. "It doesn't sound like you had a good run of teachers," he said, fiddling with a spoon as he talked.

Ibex looked up from the drink menu he had been reading as he ate. He swallowed his food. "Not for defense, no. But I did have good teachers in other areas, so I knew what a good one was and wasn't.  
I categorized you up there with Flitwick and McGonagall, you know," he smiled, looking far away. "You were adored by an entire class of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw students after your very first day. Anybody who played a prank on Peeves was all right in our book."

Remus looked both flattered and amused. "What exactly did I do?"

"You caught him stuffing gum into a keyhole while you were taking us to the teacher's lounge and you made the gum shoot up his nose." When Remus looked confused, he added, "There was a boggart there you were going to use for a lesson."

Dumbledore chuckled, "Third year?"

"Correct," Ibex nodded.

"Harry?" Lily asked hopefully.

Ibex blinked at her and remained silent for a moment. "Please don't call me that. 'Harry' is your little boy. It might be my name, but don't confuse me with the child. 'Ibex' will do, Mrs. Potter."

She looked sadly at him, "As you wish. You didn't go all seven years?"

"No," he said, focusing on spinning noodles around his fork. "The war exploded the summer after my sixth year. I was hunting horcruxes and dodging Death Eaters instead of studying for my NEWTs. My teachers were dead or in the fight, Hogwarts had been destroyed, and there was no Ministry to administer them."

A soft little, "Oh," was all Lily could say.

He smiled at her reassuringly, "There wasn't anything that could be done about it, really. When I left, Hogwarts was up again and rebuilding her library. The students were returning and we numbered around a thousand."

She didn't seem very reassured but smiled anyway. For the rest of the meal, Ibex regaled them with amusing bit of his school years, deftly rerouting conversation away from the point of the questions they asked. After paying, Ibex disappeared with a cheerful smile and a wave, leaving the six of them to grapple with the non-answers they had been given and stare at the mysterious phials of shimmering memories.

* * *

 _"Preconceived notions are the locks on the door to wisdom"_ -Merry Browne

* * *

Sirius wasn't entirely sure what to do with what he had been told. Perhaps Ibex was right and he was being cruel. His godson could have been an abused and used child. Only Ibex's intervention had prevented that and as hard as it was to acknowledge that Ibex was human, surely part of why he had done it was because of his own painful past. Sirius stared at the ceiling above his bed and wondered. Whatever the answer was, he wouldn't give Ibex the satisfaction of being right.

* * *

 _Of of all words of tongue and pen,_ _  
_ _The saddest are, "It might have been,"_ _  
_ _More sad are these we daily see:_ _  
_ _"It is, but hadn't ought to be."  
_ \- Francis Brett Hart (or John Greeneleafe Whitter, "Maud Muller")

* * *

Dumbledore stood up after landing in a memory. Two middle aged people, a man and a woman, sat at a table in a bustling diner near a pair of double doors. From the spelling and the accent, he guessed somewhere in the American West. The sun lit the pale sand and rocks outside the restaurant, bouncing through wide windows and lighting the interior of the otherwise dark room. Dishes clattered and the sound of spraying water mingled from behind the counter with the low murmur of talk and the occasional bark of laughter from someone on the other side of the room. Mariachi music and the low singing of the cook could be heard when the doors to the kitchen opened and a young waitress slipped out with tray of chips and salsa.

The two at the table, one Dumbledore suspected was Harry and his friend, were still silent, staring at each other. Then the woman sighed loudly and dropped her head against the wood siding of the wall. "You win," she grumbled.

He grinned at her, "When have I ever lost a staring contest to you, Hermione?"

"Well," she said with a smile, "There was that one time in Baghdad..."

"I got sand in my eye, ok?" he replied indignantly. "It hurt!"

"Right," Hermione said skeptically, one eye brow arched elegantly.

The man rolled his eyes at her playfully, "All right, all right. When do you think our food will come? It's been forty minutes."

"And you're hungry, I know," she rolled her eyes. "Anyone who knew you might think you never got past puberty with the way you eat."

Harry laughed, "I can't help that I can eat however I like and you—"

"—Watch it there, mister!" Hermione replied with mock seriousness. She waggled a finger at him. "You're treading on thin ice!"

He grinned impudently, "Right. Because you can make me sleep on the couch."

"I'll kick you out of our hotel room all together, that's what I'll do! I'll give the bugs a feast," she smiled wickedly.

Harry's eyes widened with fear, " _The bugs?_ No, not the bugs! Anything but the bugs! Please, Hermione, I promise I'll never make jokes like that again!" He looked like she had offered him a choice between dementors and inferi.

She stared at him for a moment before she burst out laughing. He joined in and an embarrassed waitress scuttled over to them with two plates of food. One was an enormous burrito and the other was a simple salad. After apologizing profusely for taking so long, the waitress disappeared through the double doors and the two began to eat.

After fixing her salad, Hermione stopped to gape at the huge scoops of salsa and sour cream Harry was dropping on his burrito.

"Maybe you should just pour the salsa?" she asked dubiously as he picked up his fork and knife. "It might be more efficient."

"Nope," he said cheerfully as he sawed through the tortilla. "I'm good."

She shook her head at him and settled into her food.

The memory greyed out for a moment and sharpened again. They were exiting the diner and there was a commotion in the parking lot. A young man yelled a pair of black haired middle aged women, standing amongst people who were probably family.

"You know what? I know why you're doing this! You're afraid grandpa will give them more in his will because they were caring for him and grandma! Never mind you're leaving Tricia and Rich homeless! You're going to make him blind at this rate; both of you know _exactly_ what the stress will do to his eyes!" The boy glared at the women, his expression furious.

"Rich was looking at porn!" one of the black haired women said, as if it was the worst crime in the world. " _Porn!_ Under our father's roof no less!"

The boy sneered as the rest of the family shifted and murmured. "So that's grounds to leave two people—who both needed a place to stay and were providing free care for your parents—completely homeless. Never mind they might well get more out of the will than you would. I hope they do, you know. They deserve it far more than you two do."

Hermione looked Harry as the boy continued to berate his aunts. "That is so sad. I will never understand why people do that kind of thing."

"Shallowness. Never looking beyond what's best for _them_ ," Harry said quietly. "So many are like that."

Hermione nodded, looking mournful.

The parking lot spun away and Dumbledore stood in his office, where his doppelganger and an older, more bitter looking Severus sat by the fire, talking. There was no trace of Ibex.

"Headmaster," Severus said stiffly, "this is not working. Rookwood's plans advance ever further and you already lost ground when you announced the Dark Lord's return. We must take the offensive."

The other man rubbed his forehead tiredly. "The type of offensive you are suggesting, Severus, will only give them room to fire upon us. It will make things worse."

"But then we can fix it!" Severus retorted.

"We must appear not as extremists, but moderates arguing for peace," Dumbledore replied wearily.

Severus scoffed. "Peaceful revolutions almost never stick. There must be _some_ extremism, there must be rage, there must be _struggle_. Or things will never change. We need to paint the other side in terms of violence, pain, and destruction.  
"You must rage against the injustice and the pain they cause." Severus glared at him. "You _must_ appear to suffer fury and pain. Those who have felt the pain will likely voice their support and help you build a resistance movement. _Your_ pain and suffering will galvanize sympathy and support. The pain of others garners empathy without the people having to actually experience it—pain looks good on other people. It's what they're _for."_

Dumbledore's doppelganger looked even sadder.

Remus was surprised to see an older, greyer version of himself standing in the teacher's lounge at Hogwarts surrounded by a gaggle of children. He spoke to them, telling them about boggarts and then informing them that one resided inside the wardrobe at his back.

Each child confronted the creature and the results were usually hilarious. A spider wearing skates, a tripping mummy...and then Remus paused and then nearly fell over laughing when Snape appeared to be wearing a green dress and a vulture hat rather than his usual dour black robes. Remus decided he liked the boy who had created the image. The little fellow looked a good deal like Alice Longbottom, actually.  
A small, slight child stepped forward and Remus realized it was a young Ibex. He frowned at the small stature of the boy. James and Lily were both fairly tall and it was unlikely that Harry—Ibex—whatever—would be otherwise without serious reasons. The door opened and something black loomed out of the wardrobe. The older version of Remus leaped forward and the boggart shifted into a moon. It popped like a balloon and with a final _Ridikulus!_ the thing was defeated.

His surroundings spun and he stood on a curse-scarred battlefield in the middle of the night. A small group of people stood in a circle, though they were constantly looking up to scan their surroundings. Remus navigated the crowd and was surprised to see Ibex again, looking blank and lost as he stared at a broken, shattered body. Remus crept closer and discovered it was _his own body_ , his own jawless face that stared at the starlit sky.

Severus landed gracefully on the stone floor of what appeared to be a set of dungeons. A young man lay on the floor, his body a bloody mess and squares of skin piled on the floor next to him, glinting in the torch light. An old, grey haired man walked through the only door and knelt next to the boy, a corner of his robes soaking up a rivlet of blood. Severus moved to examine both the boy and the man. It looked to be Ibex and as he studied the old man's face, he realized it was himself!

"What have you done now, Potter?" the older Snape muttered as he pulled out his wand and cast a series of diagnostic spells. Severus didn't recognize about half the spells used but the ones he did know told him the boy was on the brink of death, though conscious.

Snape levitated the squares of flesh off the floor and deposited them on the boy's chest. He prodded them with the end of his wand and they spread out, returning to their original locations and blending in with the remaining skin. With a series of charms and spells, Snape healed a good chunk of the damage Bellatrix had dealt him and then forced a potion down the boy's throat.

Ibex coughed but drank all that landed in his mouth. Snape stood and the boy looked up at him. "Thank you," he said weakly.

"I don't do it for you—never think otherwise," Snape spat and strode through the door.

Sirius landed in the Shrieking Shack, where a ragged version of himself and Remus chased a fat rat across a table as it raced towards a door, leaving paw prints in the greasy dust. Remus landed a spell on the animal and it shifted in aged version of Peter, as he flew off the table and crashed into a clutter of chairs.

This Remus looked furious and Sirius's battered doppelganger yelled as Peter rolled over and stuttered at them. It soon became clear that Sirius and Remus were intent on killing the smaller man and then a boy who was obviously Harry stepped forward and saved Peter's life.

The world spun again and Harry and two other children (a red headed boy who was obviously a Weasley and a bushy haired girl whom Sirius didn't know) spoke to a thin version of himself, sitting on a cave floor. Sirius walked around the scene, listening with one ear as he watched Harry's expression. Worry warred with affection in his eyes and he turned to inspect the other version of himself.

He noted the thin and brittle look to his hair, his papery skin, and the lines around his eyes. It was definitely him but he had suffered immensely. Sirius remembered Dumbledore telling him that if Ibex had not averted the path of destiny, he would have spent years in Azkaban.

Sirius's expression twisted in thought and then the cave shifted and swirled into what was obviously Grimmauld Place. His expression darkened and then he saw Ibex approach his other self to be swept up in an immense hug with Remus smiling fondly at them. _Ibex hugged him back_ , looking happy to be with him. The memory shifted slightly, stopping in the kitchen where the doppelganger sat, intently telling Ibex and his friends something.

The kitchen spun and he stood in a huge amphitheater filled with spell fire. Standing on a platform in front of an ancient looking archway with a thin, transparent veil, stood himself and Bellatrix. The other version of Sirius seemed to be taunting her and she fired a spell at him, catching him off guard and sending him flying through the veil. Harry yelled and raced towards the archway, only to be caught by Remus. Curious, Sirius walked around the archway...and saw only a faintly fluttering veil.

* * *

_"Truly, the road to enlightenment is like unto half a mile of broken glass."_

* * *

James was frustrated. Everyone but him had a chance to view Ibex's memories and they were dancing around letting him see them, especially the ones Lily had been given . And then it all clicked when Lily explained it to him.

"I hadn't realized..." James paused, trying to decide how to say it, "that you were so close to Snape, before fifth year." He settled on a neutral tone—Lily had made her choice and didn't seem interested in divorce.

"I was," she said tersely. "What Ibex suggested...might not have been too far from what he was thinking before then. There's more I'm sure, but from what we know Snape felt some sort of responsibility to me to make sure Harry didn't actually die somewhere along the way."

James nodded carefully.

"And," Lily added, "Ibex's Dumbledore made him promise to kill him—Snape had no choice." He knew she wanted to head off a potentially explosive conclusion, so he nodded again.

Dumbledore gestured him forward to the table in Remus's cottage. "Sit, please. I'll guide you through the memories."

James was displeased but did as requested and sat across from Dumbledore. They both entered the memories and the world began to spin as they dropped into it. It froze for a moment and reversed a rotation or two before spinning again. They stood on the astronomy tower at Hogwarts and Dumbledore immediately lead him to the Headmaster's doppleganger. He pointed at the withered hand peeking out of the long sleeve.

"The result of a curse," Dumbledore told him clinically and turned around. "That would be Lucius's son," he pointed at a scared and shaking boy standing a few feet away and pointing a wand at the twin. A brief conversation ensued and then Snape burst into the scene, several Death Eaters hot on his heels. Another confrontation and Snape fired a Killing Curse at Dumbledore, sending him flying over the battlements. James's jaw dropped.

Another spin, abrupt reversal, and continued spinning. The two of them stood in a dank dungeon; Bellatrix leaned over a bloody, groaning figure. She crooned to him softly as she peeled squares of skin away.

"That would be your son," Dumbledore commented, looking nauseous.

Another spin.

"Remus," Dumbledore pointed at a bloody and broken lump on the ground and shell shocked Harry kneeling next to him, staring at his jawless face.

_Spin._

Snape burst through a door and thrust a sobbing woman at a startled Harry. She clutched at him and Snape threw a book at them, looking angry and stiff as they were portkeyed away.

_Spin._

Harry was being held back by a tired and lined Remus as he screamed for Sirius.

Dumbledore pulled them out of the memory, looking sad. "What a life he must have lived."

James nodded numbly as Lily appeared at his side. He leaned against her for a moment.

Dumbledore nodded, adding, "There are many more."

"I...don't think I want to see them. What I have seen is a lot to process." James said, staring at the scarred table in front of him.

* * *

 _"...People need to reduce anxiety by developing confidence in their understandings of the physical and social world and the patterns of responses they sustain. The largely routinized nature of social intercourse helps people structure their identities and enhance their capacity for agency, and accordingly becomes a powerful component of their security system. People suffer acute anxiety when these routines are disrupted by novel or critical situations."_ A Cultural Theory of International Relations, by Richard Ned Lebow

* * *

This was so much to deal with, James thought. The world had been turned upside down and shaken. Nothing was the same as it had been a year ago—then they had lived in fear of a psychopath murdering them all. That threat had been removed and the purpose of the Order no longer existed. The purpose he had dedicated himself to the minute he had exited the gates of Hogwarts for the last time was empty and he was uncertain as what to do next.

* * *

_"Facts and the truth aren't often the same thing."  
_

* * *

Harry suspected that the Order would ultimately believe he was a well intentioned extremist. He had given them memories that held much in the way of sentimental value for him—Sirius and Remus had meant a lot. The memories had happened and were not fabricated, but they weren't _the_ truth.

The truth about power and control. _He_ would control the course of events, _he_ would shape the world to come. There would be no one else who held the real reigns. He might perhaps appear to step back, but every person in a position to influence the wizarding world would be either on his pay role or one of his Delugians. Every minster, every _Prophet_ editor, every Wizengamot member. His agenda would never be like Voldemort's—he would never give the people a reason to rebel nor the opportunity for leaders like Dumbledore to appear and lead a revolution. -

For those who thought they could defy him, though, he would be judge, jury, and executioner.


	8. Bones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: The vomitous nature of certain sequences may be emotionally hazardous for the squeamish or those with weak hearts.

_"Are we not all lovers as Orpheus was, loving what is gone from us forever, and seeking it vainly in the solitudes and wilderness of the mind, and crying to Eurydice to come again?"_ – Fiona Macleod

* * *

The white and glittering black backlash of Hermione's last spell would never fade from Harry's dreams and the moment he had found her dessicated corpse in the ruins of their yard echoed through his head at night. Her skin had blackened, cracked, and peeled away from her bones, which pulsated with a deep orange glow.

Perhaps the worst was the look of anguish on her face and the way her cavernous mouth glowed from within, orange light glinting off white teeth. Some irrational part of him took over and he cradled her body against his, rocking back and forth in the crater, oblivious to the feather light drifts of skin and skeins of fried hair that floated to the floor as he mourned. There was a quiet hiss and then another. Harry straightened up; a tear shivered off his cheek and landed on Hermione. There was a soft sizzle and he closed his eyes. Harry stood up and carefully carried her body to a couch in their sitting room.

He gently deposited her remains and sank down in front of the sofa, staring at his last anchor and greatest friend. Hermione had meant the world to him. They had gone through everything together; every hour of torture, every significant loss, they had shared. Harry's eyes welled again as he looked her over, taking in the details; the black, fried hair, the contortion of her limbs, the gut-wrenching look of pain on her face, and her crispy skin. A hole was torn in his heart and the bottom dropped out of his world as he realized she was well and truly gone.

Harry was haunted by day by images that would flash before him without warnings and his heart clench. The dreams were worse, his old nightmares seamlessly blending with Hermione's death. Sometimes she survived a few minutes, her face becoming a gaping maw as the working of her spasming jaw shed layers of skin and tissue. Other times, she would croak out accusations and blame him for failing to check her calculations, tearing him apart with guilts old and new. _"Why?"_ Hermione would rasp as she crawled toward him on broken, distorted limbs, "Why didn't you check? You knew I was falling apart – _you should have checked!"_ she would howl before disintegrating, leaving a pile of glowing bones and drifts of ash.

Each morning, he would creep into the sitting room and stare at Hermione's body. As time passed, he would inch closer in the morning and spend longer with her. He would gently stroke the remains of her hair, whispering incoherent things about his dreams and how sorry he was. _  
_

Harry took to sleeping in a corner of the sitting room, holding vigils for her as he sank further and further in an ever darkening madness. _Why didn't you check the calculations before using with it! Why, why were you so careless!_ Why did you leave me alone?

He would crawl to her dead body after each tirade, sobbing out incoherent apologies.

A year, then two. Finally, half way through the third he emerged. Harry barely remembered anything more than a whirlpool of sorrow and tears and a blind blankness, but he knew that he would have to change the past to prevent Hermione from suffering this fate again. She should have lived a life of her own choosing, rather than what fate and suffering had dictated. He could and would prevent this path, come hell or high water _._

Under each declaration of good intention, little thoughts, little doubts, niggled. He felt them lurking beneath the surface and ruthlessly quashed them.

The first day of lucidity, Harry finally buried Hermione's remains. He reverently gathered each sheaf and speck of skin and hair in a silken bag and cast a delicate spell that bound her remaining tissue to her now softly glimmering bones. Her grave was in a magnificent grove of ash and oak trees on a small hilltop. Making the gravestone took him the better part of two weeks; it was carved of marble and etched with her favorite symbols, delicate geometry and her name in a gentle, elegant script. He put it in and stood before the freshly turned earth, listening to the rustle of leaves as they fell in a vibrantly colored cascade through the grove. With a fond and nostalgic smile, he patted the headstone and walked home.

* * *

 _With what a deep devotedness of woe  
I wept thy absence - o'er and o'er again  
Thinking of thee, still thee, till thought grew pain,  
And memory, like a drop that, night and day,  
Falls cold and ceaseless, wore my heart away!_  
– Thomas Moore

* * *

Harry sifted through the calculations of Hermione's final spell and checked each step with exacting focus. There were two. The first was a minute error at the beginning of the formula that had snowballed into the avalanche that killed her; Hermione hadn't realized that the earth element in the spell absolutely had to be stone – simple soil could not ground the surge of pure magic. The second mistake she had made was that the required vehicle for the magic was blood and bone.  
He chewed the inside of his lip, oblivious to the fact that his mouth was slowly filling with blood as he thought about whether he should try her last spell.

It was a subtle spell that slightly altered aspects of reality and the perception thereof, according to the caster's wish – if, and only if, the caster had the strength and the determination. Harry knew the remnants of his madness and his love for Hermione would provide determination and he was just powerful enough. Harry cast it to alter the flow of reality just enough to prevent another psychopathic Dark Lord from attempt genocide or complete tyranny ever again. It left him prone for hours on the hard stone circle he had used and it was weeks before he was at full strength again.

In the next thirteen years, Harry occasionally emerged from seclusion to admonish misbehaving officials. The public was surprised he was still alive after almost three years of silence but often paid attention to what he said, remembering his sacrifice.

However, he spent most of his time working his way through the library and devising his own spells. He instituted a three month waiting period between completing the calculations and actually trying a spell. He felt it was disrespectful to Hermione's memory to ignore the lesson she had inadvertently taught him.

When Harry finally deemed himself ready to go back in time, he donated much of his library to Hogwarts, including a number of journals and letters for history's sake and burned the ones he wasn't taking with him. These were things he didn't think the public needed to know, like the more intensely private moments of their pain, his own madness, and some of the more dangerous book they had collected over the years.

* * *

_"Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law. Just remember, no one likes an asshole."_

* * *

Achelous was waiting for Harry when he arrived a Dolohov's mansion a few days after he had meet with Dumbledore and the Order. The vampire was seated in the study on one of the brown and cream velvet couches, and decked in pristine white robes. He looked at Harry over his glass of blood wine, then put it down and waited.

Harry had stopped just outside the ring of couches and chairs and they looked at each other in silence for a moment before he asked, "...I take it you wished to speak to me?" He eyed the open window on the other side of the room, where birds chirped and the wind whispered through the ash trees. "How long have you been here?"

"Since before dawn," Achelous said evenly. "I was expecting you to be one of those morning types – up at dawn and at work before seven."

Harry rubbed his forehead, "No, I'm afraid not. Never been a morning person." He looked at the vampire and said with mild irritation, "I doubt Dolohov would appreciate it if he knew you were breaking and entering. Please give prior notice, Achelous. Impromptu visits are not welcome."

Achelous raised an eyebrow. "You don't seem to mind when Callisto does it," he said and smirked.

Harry blinked at him and gave a sheepish smile, "Well," he paused before deciding it was best to ignore Achelous's comment. "What was it you wished to talk to me about?"

"How is that bill coming along?" Achelous asked, not bothering to hide his amusement.

"The vampire bill?" Harry asked, "All right. I've got my people working on the Wizengamot and Dumbledore is busy waffling, so—"

"—Waffling?" Achelous interrupted curiously.

Harry was starting to get annoyed. "Stop interrupting me and you might find out," he said tartly and waited a few breaths. When the vampire didn't say anything, he went on. "He knows we're behind it, so he's fighting with himself over whether he should support it or not. I think he'll fall in line eventually, even if only because he can't afford to ruin his image."

"Ah," Achelous nodded. "He did that last time with the werewolf Bill, yes?"

Harry nodded, "He's very useful that way. Gives everything we do a stamp of 'rightness' in the eyes of humanely minded and he takes the heat from the public because he's been advocating this stuff for years."

The vampire nodded again and fought to stifle a yawn.

Harry laughed. "Have you got a way home?"

"I'll floo back." Achelous nodded and stood up.

Harry walked him to the elaborately gilded hearth and shook his hand before holding out a delicate porcelain bowl of floo powder. As Achelous took a handful, Harry added firmly, "Remember to owl next time you want to talk."

"I will," said Achelous with a nod. "Thank you for seeing me, Ibex."

Harry nodded, "You're welcome. See you later," he said as Achelous threw his floo powder into the fire.

Achelous threw him a smile and stepped into the flames, calling, "Knossos!"

* * *

" _Your adherence to antiquated ideals is not as admirable as they would like you to believe."_

* * *

Ansiedora pursed her lips, annoyed with herself and with Lord Ibex. He was not doing things correctly. She had been too caught up in his presence and excitement, and his promises of glory to see where he was leading them. It was still early enough to stop him, she thought, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. The question was how?

* * *

Two weeks passed and the bill was passed. Harry celebrated with the London clan at their home. Here, he met other members of the clan.

Maia was a very small woman, with soft brown hair and periwinkle eyes against pale skin. She was dressed in a knee-length, soft blue tunic and she greeted him twinkling eyes and a silent nod.

Behind her was a boisterous man of middling height, with wild hair and expressive brown eyes named Pan. He grinned at Harry and shook his hand vigorously upon meeting him. "Congratulations, Ibex! Congratulations! Been waiting for that one for a while!" he exclaimed. "Since about—"

"Since about 1547," Niobe interrupted, rolling her eyes as she shut the door.

"Longer," he said, suddenly quiet, and the hall filled with his sadness.

Harry nodded awkwardly, "Well, I'm glad that you have it now," he groped for something to say, "and..."

"Hello, Ibex," Callisto interrupted, ghosting out from between of two scarlet pillars that lined the hall, a smile on her lips as she approached him. "Very good job on the bill. It should help the clanless ones survive more easily."

"I hope so," Harry said, ignoring the little butterflies that had taken up residence in his stomach when Callisto had placed a hand on his arm.

She lead him into a large candlelit room, which had a long rosy wooden table in the middle of it, surrounded by chairs which were carved so delicately as to appear weightless. Achelous was seated at the head of the table.

"Good evening," Achelous said, casting amused looks at the two of them as they approached. "I'm glad to hear the bill passed."

"Me, too," Harry laughed as Callisto steered him to the seat at Achelous's right and then seated herself across from him as the others filled in.

Achelous looked at Niobe. "Have Tyre and Ras not returned yet?" He sounded irritated.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Obviously not. Midas isn't back yet, either, so don't fuss too much. He's still with the boys, so everything ought to be all right."

Achelous said nothing, though he looked slightly less annoyed. Shaking his head, he looked at Harry and asked, "What do you plan to do, now that you've got the bills passed?"

A little smile crossed Harry's face. "I plan to wait."

* * *

" _Use absence to create respect and esteem. If presence diminishes fame, absence augments it."_ – Baltasar Gracián, 1601-1685

* * *

Lucius had expected praise for his efforts in passing the vampire bill and he had expected a meeting with the same fanfare the werewolf bill had been met with.

But not a word had been heard from Ibex in three weeks and he was anxious. Dolohov was watching him, an ever-enlarging and self-satisfied smirk on his face; his very home was Ibex's base of choice and Lucius hadn't received so much as a thank you note for his efforts.

Ansiedora had been trained from an early age to watch others and determine how to use them. After two weeks without a peep from Lord Ibex, she could tell the silence was bothering both Malfoy and Snape, though she did not know why it would bother the latter as of yet. Perhaps he had done something to displease Ibex and was awaiting punishment? It would be like Ibex to let the man stew in his own anxiety.

In a roundabout fashion, Ansiedora approached Malfoy at the next social affair, which was held at Corvax Manor. Rookwood's nephew and heir, Nigel Blackfrost, was nervously trying to curry Ibex's good favor even though the man in question was not present.

"Malfoy," she asked silkily, a somewhat mocking look in her eyes, "care to comment as to what our Lord's reaction was to the good news? I'm sure he said something to you of all people."

Several others in their little group turned to look at him and Malfoy stiffened almost imperceptibly. "I am afraid Lord Ibex has been busy with some project lately and has not spoken to me. Though," he added quickly, "I am sure I will be hearing from him soon."

Ansiedora nodded. "I'm sure you will." Her smile was slightly patronizing.

* * *

 _"People are always trying to read the motives behind your actions and use your predictability against you. Throw in a completely inexplicable move and you put them on the defensive."_ – Robert Greene _, The 48 Laws of Power_

* * *

Ibex's silence was troubling, Dumbledore decided while listening to Severus recite yet another empty report. He fiddled with the end of his beard pensively as he finished and Sirius questioned him.

"Are you sure?" Sirius probed, "I mean absolutely sure, that you haven't heard a whisper?" He gave Severus a distrustful look, "You know as well as I do how much that set gossips. Worse than a gaggle of Ravenclaw fifth years."

"Wouldn't that be a conspiracy of Ravenclaws?" Remus asked from where he sat cross from Sirius. "Or possibly an unkindness depending on the nature of the gossip, I suppose."

"Very clever, Lupin," Severus said over the collective chuckling, rolling his eyes. "And yes, Black, I am absolutely sure that I haven't heard anything about his location."

A fourth week of silence, and then a fifth. Dumbledore fretted and worried over his continued absence. Perhaps he had retired? No, that was unlikely. Very unlikely, in fact. Men like Ibex didn't disappear like this. Had something happened to him? Immortality did not preclude incapacitation.

* * *

_Reward loyalty or you risk loosing it._

* * *

Lucius was thoroughly nettled. Ansiedora Aneris was suggesting that Lord Ibex didn't appreciate his efforts! He knew Lord Ibex did – the man had said as much on one occasion. And he was a good Lord who knew the worth of his followers.

Didn't he?

* * *

" _Remember: Your search for power depends on shortcuts...Images are an extremely effective shortcut: Bypassing the head, the seat of doubt and resistances, they aim straight for the heart. Overwhelming the eyes, they create powerful associations..."_ – Robert Greene, _The 48 Laws of Power_

* * *

Six weeks after the vampire bill had passed, Delugians across the country felt a gentle tickled centered on their mark. They apparated to Dolohov's manor and shuffled into the pitch black ballroom, grumbling. Such a long time, they muttered. Not even a word. And he wanted them now? The hall filled to capacity, the people at the front stopping when they felt a slim velvet rope before them.

The door slammed behind the last person and the lights flared up, blindingly white. Delicate, joyful music echoed through the room, emanating from behind Ibex's obsidian throne.

Very slowly, the song grew louder and stronger and as it crescendoed, Ibex drifted down, seemingly from nowhere, his cerulean blue robes flaring around his figure like wings. He landed gracefully on his thrown, a bright smile on his face as he surveyed the crowd. Behind his head, soft gold lights illuminated the wall, giving him a halo. Then there was the rasping click of metal on pumice and two large ibexes appeared behind his thrown as well, made of smoky obsidian, with golden hooves and horns, and their bodies chased with silver. Delicate gold wings were furled over their heads as they descended the stairs, and upon reaching the floor, they reared with their wings outstretched and froze, becoming statues at the base of the dais.

"Welcome, friends!" he called to them, drawing their attention to himself again. "I am afraid I was unavoidably detained in the wake of our victory," he sounded apologetic. "But!" he smiled, "I have observed many things that please me since my return." He cocked his head and smiled again at the crowd, who waited with baited breath. "And firstly, I wish to recognize those who assisted with the bill. Lucius," he called loudly and waved a hand; the thin golden ropes that stood before the crowd disappeared. "Rabastan, Rudolphus, and Tafari, please step forward."

The men and woman in question stepped forward, coming to a stop a few feet from the base of the platform. They knelt in unison and Ibex smiled at them fondly. "Each of you have contributed greatly to our cause." He descended the stairs and stopped in front of them and from nowhere, he pulled out four slim volumes. Each was bound in cerulean blue leather with bright brass corners and gilded pages.

"These," he said as he handed them out, "are a few choice spells pulled from my personal grimoire. Each is individualized, based on what I thought would be interesting or useful to you."

Each of the recipients bowed from the waist and then slipped back into the crowd, tucking their prizes into pockets with pleased smiles on their faces.

With that, Ibex turned back the crowd.

* * *

" _ **Feed on Uncontrollable Emotions.**_ _The uncontrollable emotion can be a paranoid fear – a feed disproportionate to the situation – or any base motive such as lust, greed, vanity, or hatred. People in the grip of these emotions often cannot control themselves, and you can do the controlling for them."_ – Robert Greene, _The 48 Laws of Power_

* * *

At the next hierarchy meeting, Ibex did not speak to Snape. He would sometimes make eye contact but otherwise ignored his presence, not even greeting him as he did the others. Lucius and Rudolphus gave him sideways glances, probably wondering why he was present if Ibex was unhappy with him.

But Rabastan, Ibex's closest personal advisor, sent him pitying looks that set his teeth on edge.

* * *

" _Your next encounter will be with the Sirens, who bewitch every man that approaches them... For with the music of their song the Sirens cast their spell upon him, as they sit there in a meadow piled high with the moldering skeletons of men, whose withered skin still hangs upon their bones."_

—Circe to Odysseus, _The Odyssey, Book XII_

* * *

Ansiedora had long ago learned that the easiest way to get someone to talk was to make them relax and to distract them. She was well aware of the allure of "ancient nobility" had for plebeians and, of course, the power a beautiful woman held over any man. Richard, Ibex's aide-de-camp would be no exception.

She took extra pains with her dress when she would be in proximity to Richard, appearing in brightly colored robes and decked in elaborate jewelry. Ansiedora would smile shyly at him before looking away quickly but she never spoke to him, hovering at the edges of his life like glittering humming bird.

Over several weeks, she patiently waited and threw a few wrenches in the machine that set up Ibex's world. Nothing serious went amiss – that would make him suspicious enough to look for the source – but enough that it slowed his rise.

Finally, finally Ansiedora approached Richard at a small dinner party she had arranged for him to attend. After carefully isolating him – a man of such lowly status with such an inglorious family history would feel out of place at a dinner party like this – she approached.

"How are you, Mr. Greene?" she asked as he fiddled with his wine glass and plucked at his sleeves.

He smiled, clearly feeling awkward in her company. "All right. Lord Ibex keeps me hopping. I very much enjoy serving him, so it's pleasant work."

"I hope he pays you well," she said with a warm smile, placing a hand lightly on his arm. She had dressed more subtly this evening and the intimacy of touch made him relax somewhat.

"Well, he doesn't pay me at all, actually, but I've got free room and board at Dolohov's home and I really don't have much time for anything else," Richard explained.

"Surely you get out some evenings?" Ansiedora asked, coloring her expression and words with a little concern. "For dates? Dinner with friends?"

"A few times I've managed it, but I spend evenings doing research and compiling paperwork most of the time...And I do miss going out," he admitted at last.

She nodded at him. "You ought to talk to him about it. Lord Ibex does seem to listen to our concerns, and after all, you do most of the work! He won't refuse you, I'm sure."

Richard seemed to take encouragement from her words. "Yeah," he said, a look of consideration on his face. "I think I will." He looked at her, a measure of affection in his eyes, "Thank you."

Ansiedora smiled, "Any time."

She took some time in her consideration of Snape. Would he be useful or would he immediately tell Ibex in hopes of gaining his favor? It was a grave matter indeed, and Ansiedora could not risk having her cover blown so soon.


	9. Sabotage

"All business sagacity reduces itself in the last analysis to judicious use of sabotage." -Thorstein Veblen

* * *

There was something afoot and it did not sit well with Harry; it was costing him his power over events in the Wizarding World. Whoever it was jamming the gears was giving more weight to the concerns of those few purebloods who had not been won over with his promises of glory. Sirius's mother was one of them, loudly voicing her opinion about the new laws regarding werewolves and vampires. And Walburga was not alone her dissent. There a was another loud voice within the Ministry itself that brought him worry- Delores Umbridge, who was actively campaigning to repeal the laws Harry had fought to put in place; he needed a way to shut up Umbridge and for it to be done silently. Harry wasn't sure how to do it at this point and further more, he needed to know who was giving people like her a voice. Given the turn of events, Harry suspected that it was probably another pureblood who was the source of this trouble. With a frown, he reached for the delicate threads that tied the purebloods to him and pulled them closer.

* * *

Ansiedora was frustrated! It was becoming more difficult to actively seek out ways to destroy Lord Ibex **,** and all her work on the lesser purebloods was crumbling. This was unacceptable, and so she quickened her seduction of Richard, pushing a little bit faster towards total control over his heart and therefore his mind. She would not be thwarted.

* * *

" **The Serpent with a Long Memory.** If hurt of deceived, this man will show no anger on the surface; he will calculate and wait. Then, when he is in a position to turn the tables, he will exact a revenge marked by a cold-blooded shrewdness." - _The 48 Laws of Power_ by Richard Green, Law 19

* * *

Severus Snape was surprised when he received an invitation to the Edinburgh home of Ansiedora Aneris; she had always patronized him as if he were a slow child.

He accepted the invitation and was greeted by a tiny house elf in a purple and silver toga when he knocked on the large black door.

"Welcome, Master Snape," the creature said, his voice echoing in the dark foyer as he took Snape's dripping cloak, rainwater pooling on the wooden floor at their feet. "Mistress Ansiedora will be seeing youse in a few minuteses. Pippin will being leading youse to the tea room when the time comes."

He wanted to growl at the little wretch and stomp into whatever room she was doubtlessly lounging in to tell her exactly what he thought of being left in the damp, cold foyer. Snape was certain she wanted something and playing power games was not the way to get his cooperation.

A good fifteen minutes later the elf returned, leisurely walking into the foyer as if he had all the time in the world. "Mistress Ansiedora will being seeing yous now," Pippin said casually. "Follow me." With that, the elf turned around and strolled down a long dark hall way, lined with sneering portraits and eerie classical statuary.

Finally, after wending through long corridors and up winding stairs **,** the elf gestured to an ornate wooden door, detailed in silver gilt. "The tea room," he said simply and popped away.

Snape opened the door to find her lounging on a dove grey chaise in a room lit by the grey day outside, her plum robes artfully draped over her trim figure and a dainty ceramic cup and saucer in her hands. A finely made white porcelain tea pot sat on a low rosewood table, and directly across from her was a low ottoman with a simple glass cup in front of it. A pile of parchments rested nearby.

He repressed a scowl and stood in the doorway, his face expressionless.

"Sit," she told him pointing at the ottoman. When he did not move, she pointed again at the footstool more insistently.

"What do you want?" Snape asked, his voice somewhat chill.

Aneris raised an eyebrow at him. "For you to sit."

He slowly made his way across the library, making her wait as she had done to him. When he reached the table, he sat down on a black chair rather than the ottoman and conjured a tea cup of his own. Aneris' expression chilled as Snape poured himself a cup of tea.

"Our lord asked me to give suggestions regarding his next bill," Aneris said, now very casual. "I've always found to you to be clever and I wanted your opinion on the subject."

"Which is?"

"It's a law requiring werewolves to register still and for them to wear an identifying tag," Aneris told him, flicking her wand at the papers and floating them towards him.

"I would advise against the bill," said Snape crisply, eying the parchments. "It would alienate the packs, who we need at the moment." He paused. "But when we've succeeded, it would make sense to have such a law."

Aneris nodded, looking thoughtful.

* * *

"Ansiedora Aneris?" James asked incredulously. "Aneris wants to get rid of him?"

Snape resisted the urge to smack him. "Did I not just say 'yes?' I'm less than surprised, I must admit. She did seem to fall in line rather fast, especially since she's from such an old family."

McGonagall looked thoughtful. "I think you ought to help her, at least for now."

Snape looked to Dumbledore for confirmation. The man seemed to hesitate for a second before asking, "Do you know what she might be planning?"

"Something along what purebloods traditionally expect," he said, shifting to look at the Headmaster. "With a Nazi twist," he added with distaste. "I may loathe werewolves," Snape said, shooting Remus a glare, "But forcing them to wear identifying markers sets my hackles up. For all I know, it will snowball and she'll demand the rest of us wear them."

Dumbledore grimaced with distaste. "I am not sure yet," he admitted. "At this moment, I would advise you retain neutrality."

Snape nodded sharply.

Later that evening, Sirius, Remus, Lily, and James sat around the hearth at the Potter home, sipping tea and worrying about the future.

"Is it really worth it" asked Remus worriedly, "to work with someone like Aneris? What if she succeeds and it's worse than before?"

James sighed. "It's a question of who's the lesser of two evils. Life under a dictator either way for sure, but either one who seems rather progressive or one who will take us back to the stone age." He looked at his wife and Remus. "On one hand, we keep you safe and unmarked," James said looking at them, "but on the other, we surrender our freedom to make our own future."

"Who's to say we can't over throw Aneris?" asked Lily. "She's less dangerous than Ibex and definitely not immortal."

"It's the devil we know for the one we don't, Lily," Sirius said, shifting his gaze to her. "Ibex doesn't seem interested in hurting werewolves, a usual target, but like James said, we surrender democracy in as much as it has ever existed here. Aneris is mortal but she has entrenched power who will fight to retain it whereas Ibex has the younger generation and has killed off a number of leaders for the old families."

* * *

" _The shortest and best way to make your fortune is to let people see clearly that it is in their interests to promote yours." Jean de La Bruyere (1645-1696)_

* * *

Edmund Newman was a jittery little man with a long pointed face, rather like a weasel's. He had very small brown eyes which glittered with an intense, almost wild-eyed intelligence from under a mop of red hair. And when he moved, he skittered like a cockroach across a floor, short little legs wiggling under the dun brown trousers he wore. Like many of the newly rich in wizarding society, Edmund pretended that he was a pureblood and was zealous about protecting the privileges that came with that status. In Ansiedora's view, he protested too much, too loudly to be truly pure. However he was very useful, with vital business connections through out the community and best of all, he had not succumbed to the siren call of Lord Ibex.

* * *

_"The intense intertwining of two people provides valuable contrast and motion forward that could not erupt without the powerful dynamics of two powerful creators coming together. Your relationship literally provides a springboard for ideas that are born out of the intertwining of thoughts"-Abraham-Hicks_

* * *

Rabastan Lestrange entered his Lord's study and paused when he saw a glint of metal and harsh blackin the light of the torchlight out of the corner of his eye between two book cases. The obsidian statues which had stood at the foot of Ibex's throne at their last meeting stopped mid motion as they gallivanted between the cases. In eerie synchronization turned their heads to stare at him with blank, empty eyes.

He advanced a little, cautious of their sharp horns and they moved to the center of the aisle, still staring.

A whistle echoed from the far end of the room **,** and they whirled around to canter toward the sound. After a moment, he followed to see Ibex talking quietly to them and patting their necks with something resembling affection. Again, the beasts turned their heads to him and he was struck by the fluidity of the motion; it was as if sinew and muscle lay under the coal black stone.

Ibex spoke to the statues in an unfamiliar tongue and they looked back to him. With a bow, they turned and ran together into the maze of book cases, almost like they were off to play in the dust and dark.

"Beautiful, aren't they?" Ibex asked Rabastan with an idle smile, lounging in his chair behind a desk strewn with papers, the candle light casing Ibex's features in a warm light.

He nodded. "Indeed," Rabastan agreed. "I must admit I've never seen anything like it."

Ibex smiled again. "Rumi and Sasha will not bother you again," he added.

Rabastan nodded, remaining silent.

"What was it you wished to see me about?" asked Ibex curiously. "Has your unit finished the project?" He gestured for him to sit in the chair across the desk from him.

"Not yet," Rabastan said, settling in the squashy leather seat. "Though I believe we're close."

"Good," his Lord nodded approvingly. "I'm quite pleased with your efficiency."

Rabastan smiled. "We do try," he said before his expression changed. "I came to inform you of some troubling rumors I've heard."

Ibex frowned. "Go on."

"I have not yet been unable to certify either this story or the person or persons' identity, but the source is reputable. Anyway, rumor has it that a Delugian is agitating for a change in your policies." He paused. "Respectfully, I don't think this is necessarily bad in itself **,** but whoever it is is stirring up trouble."

"I have noticed this, yes," agreed Ibex neutrally. "Though your information is still illuminating. I wasn't sure if one of our own was causing this or not. Please keep me updated on further developments, either through myself or Richard."

Rabastan nodded. "Of course, Ibex."

Ibex smiled at him. "Excellent.

* * *

Richard was antsy. He wanted to go to a party Ansiedora had invited him to, but had to go through reports and intelligence tonight. He frowned at the huge stack of paper; it was the middle of the afternoon and the party was in five hours. Not enough time, he sighed to himself, staring at a report from some faceless underling.

He fought the urge to bang his head into the nearest wall.

There was a chuckle from his left and he looked up sharply. Lord Ibex was leaning against the door frame that separated his study from Richard's office.

"Oh," he said, embarrassed that he had been caught. "Uh, I'll get right on this..." he trailed off, his hopes dashed as he reached for the pile.

Ibex walked over to his desk and motioned for him to stop. "There's something on your mind," he stated bluntly. "Spit it out, please."

"Well," he stammered, "I-I had..."

"Had what?" Ibex asked patiently, crossing his arms.

"There was a party I had been invited to and I was hoping to go, but I have too much paperwork to go through," Richard admitted hesitantly, still wary of his boss's wrath.

Unexpectedly, Ibex smiled. "Go, if you want. You work very hard and I appreciate it, so feel free to ask for a day off now and then. The paperwork will still be here in the morning."

"Really?" Richard asked, pleased and excited.

"Of course," Ibex waved a hand. "I'm certainly not going to punish you for something so small as an evening off. I didn't give you office hours anyway, so your schedule is somewhat flexible; just let me know, ok?"

Richard nodded, smiling widely. "I'll leave in three or four hours, I think. Is that acceptable?"

"Fine by me," Ibex told him. "But look for a report from Rabastan Lestrange first thing in the morning **,** and deliver it immediately to me."

Richard bobbed his head. "Absolutely," he said earnestly.

"Excellent," said Ibex. "Enjoy your evening."

* * *

 _"A man of power, for example, often has dirty work that has to be done, but of the sake of appearances it is generally preferable to have other people do it for him; friends often do this best, since their affection for him makes them willing to take chances." -_ _The 48 Laws of Power_ by R. Green, Law Two

* * *

Edmund didn't know why Aneris wanted him to keep most of the attendees distracted and entertained, but he certainly wasn't going to ask questions. No, that was a bad idea, he told himself. A bad idea. She was much better at all of this than he was, that was for sure **,** so he was going to do what she had told him. Yes, he was. Unless she gave him an unspecified signal, Edmund reminded himself. He thought she had probably told him what it was, but he had forgotten it already or hadn't heard it at all, being so excited by the opportunity to help bring about change. He was soso _so_ pleased to have been selected by Ansiedora, as he sometimes dared to call her in his own mind.

This Ibex fellow ordered Ansiedora around and had put her in danger. Edmund frowned. That was unacceptable. And he was changing things. Things that shouldn't be changed like this. In fact, Edmund would be happy to allow the hunting down of werewolves. Oh yes, they were smart, these half breeds. Cleverclever _clever_ little bastards who attacked people at the first opportunity they got. Why shouldn't they be killed? Was it not noble, in fact, to capture and destroy these beasts? It protected children, and women like Ansied– there she is! Aneris, he amended as he scurried over to her. She hadn't given him permission to call her by her given name.

Yet.

* * *

 _"Everything depends on the sweetness of your bait. If your bait is attractive enough, the turbulence of your enemies' emotions and desires will blind them to reality. The greedier they become, the more they can be lead around."_ - _The 48 Laws of Power_ , Law 8

* * *

Umbridge was becoming a headache of epic proportions: loud, continuous, and effective. What to do, what to do? he wondered. Some petty little part of him wanted to murder her and perhaps he would give into that later, but at the moment he didn't feel he could afford to do so.

Rabastan, the thought occurred to him later. If nothing else, he would have valuable ideas. The man seemed to be a very good springboard for thoughts and plans.

An owl rapped at Rabastan's library window. It was eleven thirty at night, which was later than he felt was polite but opened the window anyway. A great horned owl swooped in and settled on a perch he kept for such purposes and dropped an envelope onto the table on which the perch stood. He walked to the owl and picked up the letter and saw his name in Ibex's jolty handwriting.

He was no longer miffed and not surprised. Dolohov had told him that Ibex was in his study at all hours of the night, seeming to follow no particular schedule and was an apparent insomniac anyway. The man also seemed to like and trust him and he was particularly pleased by this. He opened the letter.

_Rabastan,_

_I have a question for you. This letter is a portkey, which may be activated by saying "_ glossolalia." _Please arrive shortly; I will not keep you long._

_Ibex_

Rabastan hated portkeys like any sane person, but activated it anyway. The ceiling opened up in a swirling vortex and sucked him upward.

When he landed, he found himself in a clearing lit with witchfire orbs, which hung in midair and gave off an eerily white glow, casting the surrounding trees in high relief. This could be nearly anywhere in England or Ireland, he thought, wondering where exactly he was as he stuffed the letter in a pocket. Rabastan looked around for his lord and found him perched on a large rock with his legs crossed and his fingers latched around one knee. He looked like he was brooding over something he found annoying and nodded in greeting.

Rabastan bowed. "My lord," he greeted. "What do you wish from me?"

"For you to think about something," Ibex said, unlatching his fingers and leaning back on his hands on the rock. "Umbridge is becoming a serious and immediate problem, more so than whoever it is stirring up muck in our own ranks. She needs to be taken care of." He looked extremely annoyed.

Rabastan hmmed to himself and sat down in the grass, stretching out his long legs as he thought. "Does it matter whether she stays alive or not?" he asked cautiously.

"I would prefer her dead eventually. The question is, how do we remove her quietly first?" Ibex said, looking at him curiously.

"Well, we could lure her away from London," he suggested.

"With what, exactly?"

"Mmm, a man? Or perhaps a woman; I am unaware of her inclination at the moment. She does seem like the type who might be desperately lonely, somewhere at the bottom of her toady little soul." Rabastan said with a slight smirk.

Ibex laughed. "Her bow looks like a fat fly, doesn't it?"

"Indeed," Rabastan agree with a smile.

"I think if we combine the promise of power with her possible desperation for affection, we can lure her very easily," Ibex said, shifting so he was leaning on his elbows between his legs. His eyes narrowed a bit. "What poor soul shares office space with her? And isn't afraid of snakes?"

Rabastan frowned. "Fearson does, I think. But I don't know how he feels about snakes." He looked up at Ibex. "If I may ask, what use could a snake be?"

"There are certain breeds of snake which are highly intelligent," Ibex told him. A shark-like smile ghosted over his face. "I will be acquiring one very soon, I think. I usually get along quite well with them, so I don't imagine it will be terribly hard to convince one to go on a mission for us in return for a lifetime supply of fat mice and a warm place to sleep."

Rabastan hadn't known that Ibex was a parselmouth but kept his surprise to himself. "Shall I check how he feels about snakes?" he asked, getting up.

"That would be appreciated, yes," agreed Ibex, getting off the rock. He moved towards Rabastan and held out a large jewel. "This is another port key," he explained. "Say ' _Tripoli'_ to activate it. And keep the stone, too," he added as Rabastan took it from his hand. "Have you got the letter still?" Ibex asked when Rabastan reached for his wand.

"Yes," he said. "Did you want it?"

"Please," Ibex said, holding out his hand.

Rabastan patted his pockets and eventually found it in a back pocket. He handed it over and Ibex incinerated it with a tap of a finger. "Good night," he said and waved at Rabastan.

He reached for his wand and nodded. "Good night, Ibex." With that, he tapped the jewel and said the trigger word.

* * *

_"Rulers see though spies, as cows see through smell, Brahmins though scriptures and the rest of the people through their normal eyes" -Kautilya, Indian philosopher, 3rd century BCE_

* * *

Three weeks later, Victor Fearson found himself in Ibex's office early one July morning, cradling a snake to his chest.

"Be very careful with Janka," his lord told Fearson, looking at him over his glasses. "She's a lovely girl most of the time but does not enjoy being jounced or dropped."

Fearson swallowed. While snakes did not terrify him, he was still uneasy around them. "I will keep that in mind, my lord," he said, looking down at the reptile dozing in his arms. Janka was a small snake, about the length of his palm, slender, and light brown in color with swirls of darker scales crossing her hide. Almost like the forest floor, Fearson thought absently. Ibex hissed something to Janka and she shifted in his arms to look up at him. Her long forked tongue flicked out and she tilted her head at him before hissing to Ibex and moving to curl around his left wrist.

Ibex looked amused and spoke to Fearson again. "Please tuck her in a warm pocket on your way there and drop her off at your desk. At that point, please tell her which desk she needs to watch—she will understand what you say, I assure you. When you are ready to leave for the day," Ibex passed him a small something wrapped in snow white linen, "put this behind something handy along a wall and wait half an hour. At that point, Janka should have arrived and will likely be almost done with her dinner. Do not pick her up if she is still eating," he warned.

Fearson nodded. "What do I do if she's not there?" he asked, wondering why he had agreed to do this.

"Whistle and give her another twenty minutes," Ibex told him crisply. "If that fails, alert me as soon as possible."

He nodded as he moved to encourage Janka into sliding into a pocket inside his summer robes. "As you wish, Lord Ibex."

Ibex smiled at him. "Thank you, by the way. Your work here is going to be very useful to our effort. If all goes well today, I may have more work for you that does not involve Janka. Perhaps you will find infuriating Umbridge much more interesting than being transportation for a snake."

Fearson nodded again, a slightly malicious smile crossing his lips when he thought about all the ways he could get revenge on Umbridge as the snake slid into the pocket. "I look forward to doing that if you require it of me."

Ibex grinned at him. "Good! Now, remember Janka's got her own instructions so just go along with whatever she does when you arrive at your office. Protect her, though," his lord added, looking at his robes. "She's very clever but she may overestimate human stupidity."

"I will do my best, my lord," Fearson said.

* * *

Janka decided she liked her human transport. He smelled nice and was very careful with her. The man was also warm and she was comfortable for all the few good jerks that roused her from a doze. She gave a snaky-sigh when he took off his robe and draped it over the back of his chair, speaking to an office mate. Janka made an effort to decipher what she heard but it was difficult. A word sounded familiar to her, though. One Harry had asked her to listen for: Umbridge. Reluctant to move anyhow, she waited for him to sit down before slithering out of her nice little pocket.

There was a shift and a drawer slid open above her head. She paused when her human's head lower and she waited, knowing he was supposed to tell her where to go.

"Her desk is right across from us," he breathed to her. "She's just gone away, though."

Janka nodded and slid to the floor using his pantleg. Harry had warned her to be very careful today and she kept that in mind while slipping from shadow to shadow.

* * *

 _"So while you sit back and wonder why  
I got this fucking thorn in my side  
Oh my, it's a mirage  
I'm tellin' y'all it's a sabotage"_  
~ Beastie Boys _Sabotage_

* * *

Janka hadn't been too bad for a snake, Fearson decided. And anyway, it was all worth it now. Ibex wanted him to make Umbridge's life as miserable at the office as possible and he would see to it that Fearson never got in real trouble over it. The fear of trouble had always been the reason Fearson had hesitated to do anything.

But now he had free reign to do what he liked.

Someone—a muggle born, he figured—had acquired a mundane hole punch and no one had ever bothered to get an official Ministry one; it took the same amount of effort as a spell anyway. Umbrige had minded when she first started but the office manager had steadfastly refused to authorize a new one. Fearson suspected that it was mostly out of spite.

And the first day he had full permission, he broke it. "Oops," had been the first words out of Fearson's mouth when the newly-brittled steel cracked while trying to punch too many papers.

Andy, their office mate, had sighed and rubbed her sinuses before leaving the room with her own stack of paper to use another office's.

"Looks like we need a new hole punch," he had said with a plastic smile for Umbridge. "Getting old, that one was."

She sniffed. "I've been telling Atkinson for years that we needed a proper one. A magical one never would have done that."

"Atkinson didn't listen to you?" Fearson asked, almost aghast. "Why ever not?"

"He felt the one we had was good enough," she explained, pleased he seemed to think so much of her. "It wasn't."

"No," he agreed.

The second day, Fearson stopped doing paperwork at all and filed it all blank. It would take weeks to discover it, he gloated as he packed up. And by then all the other necessary papers would be long since out of their office.

The third, he misfiled and misrouted everything that came across his desk, sending empty documents to obscure corners of the Ministry.

After a week or three of this, he got bored of not doing his job he set upon Umbridge herself, building up her sense of self and enjoying the explosive tantrums she threw when other didn't do the same. The sight of her ripping out her hair when she couldn't find things was even better and it was much more frequent. Complaints flooded their desks and she refused Andy's help in finding the paperwork. Every new hole punch seemed to break within a few weeks and both he and Andy had taken to using another office's punch. Umbridge's screams of rage echoed through the corridors.

Fearson had been a Ravenclaw and nobody knew how to gossip like a Ravenclaw; he put this to work, spreading rumors that their boss (whom he didn't like either) had called her a great bum-licking toad. Which wasn't so much a rumor as a previously unspoken truth. Combined with the gossip that she was loosing it, it made her the laughingstock of the Ministry; people who had never heard of her before were now aware of the Fifth Floor Toad and her incredible breaking office appliances.

It took two months before finally she snapped. With a shriek of fury and an explosion of paper and sparks, she marched to their boss's door, threw it open, and informed him of her immediate resignation in colorful, somewhat obscene terms.


	10. The War in Heaven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to Dr. Stuart Grassian for the use of his affidavit.

"In reality, Cleopatra was physically unexceptional and had no political power, yet both Caesar and Antony, brave and clever men, saw none of this. What they saw was a woman who constantly transformed herself before their eyes, a one-woman spectacle...Her voice, which all writers talk of, was lilting and intoxicating. Her words could be banal enough, but were spoken so sweetly that listeners would find themselves remembering not what she said but how she said it." _The Art of Seduction_ by Robert Green

* * *

Delores Umbridge knew she was not pretty. She was well aware that she was short and looked vaguely amphibious according to almost two decades' worth of bullies. However, she also knew that some of the greatest beauties in history hadn't been pretty either. _Plain-faced Cleopatra held the hearts of two of Rome's greatest men in her hands, she thought, examining her own face in her dorm room mirror._ It had been the force of Cleopatra's personality that had won her Caesar and Antony's hearts, not delicate features and a veela's figure. And so, she tried to cultivate a strong, memorable personality. She went where others did not go, with pink cardigans, a breathy voice, and a little black bow in her hair.

Some people in positions of power seemed to like her. Some indefinable thing caught and kept their attentions. Mrs. Black was one of these people and there hadn't been a high society party that she had not invited Umbridge to in months, she thought smugly.

This, of course, was very useful in networking to end those ridiculous "creatures' rights" laws. Here, in Grimmauld Place, Umbridge talked to men and women from the _old_ pure blood lines under silver serpentine chandeliers and on fine green and grey velvet couches. They spoke to her in low voices, telling her their concerns about _these damned half breeds, a threat to society!_ and asking her how they could help.

* * *

"Do not be one of those who believe that what is most seductive is being devastatingly masculine. The...[d]andy has a much more sinister effect. He lures the woman in with exactly what she wants—a familiar, pleasing, graceful presence...but also a hint of male cruelty." _The Art of Seduction_ by Robert Green

* * *

At a party in July, she was approached by Rudolphus Lestrange, a wealthy, well connected, very handsome, and recently widowed man from an old line.

"Madam," he greeted her warmly after they had been introduced, dropping a delicate butterfly kiss to the back of her hand. "How pleased I am to see you."

"Oh?" Umbridge asked, still staring at him. _So pretty_ , an inane voice in the back of her head murmured before she managed to forge a smile. "I was unaware you had heard of me before."

"Who hasn't heard of you these days?" Lestrange said with a small grin. "Those of us in proper society to do so, anyway."

"I am...very flattered," she murmured, blushing.

They talked of many things that evening, and Umbridge found him to be clever, funny, and attentive, always offering to get her another drink and laughing at her jokes.

Lestrange gave her a gentle smile and lowered his head to speak to her more privately, once a bubble of quiet had descended around them in the chatter of the party. "If there's anything I can do for you," he said quietly, "just ask."

Umbridge found herself feeling lost and grabbed for the nearest bit of shore. "With the bills, I assume?"

After a moment he nodded stiffly. "Of course," he said, a sharp shard of disappointment in his voice before his expression neutralized and he moved on.

* * *

"In seduction, your victims must slowly come to feel an inner change. Under your influence, they lower their defenses, feeling free to act differently... Certain places, environments, and experiences will greatly aid you in your quest to change and transform the seduced. Spaces with a theatrical, heightened quality—opulence, glittering surfaces, a playful spirit—create a buoyant, childlike feeling that make it hard for the victim to think straight..." _The Art of Seduction_ by Robert Green

* * *

Ansiedora felt her seduction of Richard was coming along nicely. She was frequently around him when he was not at work, and it was over their occasional joint meals that she tried to finagle answers. Though it was taking longer than she would like, Ansiedora was beginning to chip away at his instinct to keep his mouth shut and he sometimes told her little tidbits, looking furtive and embarrassed as he did so. They were utterly useless but, baby steps, they were baby steps and that was what mattered right now.

"What do you say to spending a weekend in Cornwall?" Ansiedora asked Richard playfully a few days later. "Assuming Lord Ibex will give you the time off, of course," she added.

He blinked and then smiled. "That sounds like fun. When did you want to go?" he asked shyly.

"Well, this weekend, preferably," Ansiedora said with a smile of her own.

And so it was that they were to spend a weekend away in the hills of Cornwall. It was high summer so Ansiedora advised they sleep the hottest part of the day away and spend the evening, night, and morning out and about.

Richard frowned and she chided him. "No. No seriousness this weekend," Ansiedora said, smacking his arm lightly.

He looked at her and shook his head. "How am I to get used to that schedule?" he asked.

"I'm sure we can find something to wear you out with," Ansiedora said with an expression that was almost a smirk.

Richard looked almost shocked and he laughed. "All right, maybe we can."

The weekend in Cornwall was a wild one, but not exactly for the reasons Richard had hoped. They arrived Friday evening at a nice inn with a bedroom for each of them in a suite of rooms, and while her comments remained a little saucy, the weekend took on a much more innocent tone.

As soon as they had settled into their rooms and had a meal, Ansiedora had lead him into the descending sunset. It was those fifteen golden minutes of dusk, where the dying light paints everything in honey and gold and there was a warm breeze that ruffled over the hill on which they stood.

Ansiedora turned to face him with a smile and asked, "Want to go to town until the pubs close?"

He did and they went, the rest of the night was spent talking and drinking in the ethereal starlight of a clear moonless night.

When the sun came up, Richard was quite sleepy but Ansiedora pulled him into the rosy dawn light with a grin, and raced him up a hill. Arm in arm, they walked through the glowing woods talking and laughing until the clock struck nine and then headed to their separate beds.

As the shine wore off the afternoon, she rousted him out and began again. This was the final phase, one which would lead to him trusting her enough to tell her what she wanted him to know.

* * *

 _"Oysters open completely when the moon is full; and when the crab sees one it throws a piece of stone or seaweed into it and the oyster cannot close again so that it serves the crab for meat. Such is the fate of him who opens his mouth too much and thereby puts himself at the mercy of the listener."_ —Leonardo da Vinci, 1452-1519

* * *

Edmund was so pleased, so _pleased_ , that Ansiedora confided in him her plans. He always knew what she wanted from him. And he felt he should take the initiative in helping Ibex's fall, too. If he did, he might supplant that wretch Richard, mightn't he?

* * *

In August, Harry arrived in his study to find an owl perched upon one of his pet ibex's horns. The creature slept on, oblivious to the little bird preening itself and looking bored just above him.

As he approached the owl, it stuck out its leg and offered him a small cream colored envelope. As soon as he had relieved the bird of its burden, it took soared out the open window and into the midmorning sunlight, waking the ibex. It looked befuddled for a moment before dropping back to sleep. Harry chuckled at it as he opened the envelope. A letter, perhaps?

L̟͖̦͙̽̚o͖̙͖̼͕̭̗ͬ͆͛r͍͇̬̮͒̒̽ͮd̮̱͕ͥͬͣ͆̈̽ ͓͔̲̼͛ͥ I̹̠̺̋̈́͌b̩͙̝͓̝͕̮̓͋e̬̗͕̺̙̭̲͂̿͒̿͆ͪ̊x̭̟͉̜̤͕̲̾ͨ̄ͫ̎̾  
̳̹͖̼̥̦̪̃̌ͩͮͤ̍  
̘̯̖͒̏̉͒ͩͤ̍͒ͫ$  
̙̼̝̰ͪ͗͗ͅW͙̹̰̘̣͈̮̤͚̋̑ͥ͆͆ͯͦe̼̖͚͎͊̈́ͮ̒́ͅͅ ̬̻̬̮ͮ̉ͥw̩̖͕̿ͦ̔i̞͍̥̋ͨ̆ͨͩ̀̉̎l͇̮̏ĺ̘͓̳̺̬̳̘̮̓̏͋́͛͊̅ͮ ̳̳̼͕̩̤̇͊̍̄̋ͥ͛͛ũ͉̥̖̤͚̬̩͈̍ͫn̜̣̙̭̮̯͑ͥͥs̫̫͍͍̓ͮͯ̃ẻ͉͍̮̍á̜̗̘̗̱͔̖ͥ̿̎̔͌̊ț̘̔̀ͧ̓ͥ̐́ͣ ͆ ̥͖̭̱̍ͫ̑̎̐ŷ͈͎̬̩̳̾͂o͚̬̯͎̰̭͗ͥ̚u̮̿̌͆͑.̙̭̬̞ͮ̔̀̓ͨͧ́͒̚  
̰͑͊ͬ̑ͮ̂ͦ  
̖͉̙͓ͭ̌̽̿̐̒ͫ

He supposed it was from the person stirring up society. It disturbed him on some level. Who was this? Who was so bold and confident as to send letters like this? It didn't fit the pattern he had seen so far. But that could be part of the gambit too, couldn't it?

* * *

"When you force the other person to act, you are the one in control. It is always better to make your opponent come to you, abandoning his own plans in the process. Lure him away with fabulous gains—then attack. You hold the cards."— _The 48 Laws of Power_ by Richard Greene

* * *

Delores Umbridge could not believe her luck! Rudolphus Lestrange had taken a serious interest in her and he made a point of being part of her campaign, talking to leaders of the wizarding community. They had dinner together a few times in a little hole-in-the-wall Chinese place, which Rudolphus had confessed was his very favorite restaurant.

Then he stopped seeing her, giving her a vague, cursory smile when he saw her at events and he stepped out of the campaign without reason or notice. Rudolphus seemed to be seeing another woman, too. Her name was Gemma and she was beautiful, far more clever, and from a much purer line than Umbridge herself came from.

She wondered what she had done wrong and such thoughts consumed her when she was alone. Had she said something? Done something? Was it her looks? A few weeks later, he reappeared again and she was so grateful to have him she never noticed the nervous looks other purebloods shot him and the quiet decrease in support.

* * *

 _"Anger or hatred should never be shown otherwise than in what you do; and feelings will be all the more effective in action, in so far as you avoid the exhibition of them in any other way. It is only the cold-blooded animals whose bite is poisonous."_ —Arthur Schopenhauer, 1788-1860

* * *

But mid-October, Harry was growing increasingly concerned by the unhappiness of the vampire clans and packs. They knew what was happening politically of course and that he seemed unable to stop it. Even Callisto was displeased with him, though she was well aware he was putting every effort into stopping the repeal of the laws. With Rudolphus's successful seduction of Umbridge, things had slowed down quite considerably though not enough to please them.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear, Harry thought as Rudolphus and Rabastan were ushered into his study by Richard.

They bowed and Rudolphus spoke first.

"We know who it is," he said, looking serious.

"Our resident troublemaker?" asked Harry, leaning over the stacks of paper on his desk and steepling his fingers.

They nodded and Rabastan took over.

"Ansiedora Aneris," he said. "We're absolutely sure of it."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Evidence."

"Aneris has been organizing salons. Umbridge has been to them, and I've been forced to listen to her natter on about them," said Rudolphus with a look of distaste. "All she talked about was how excited she was that Aneris is on board with the whole thing and that Edmund Newman—"

"He's an upstart half-blood who claims he's a pure blood, but he's been steadily increasing his holdings in the year or so," Rabastan interrupted his brother. "So he has some pull as a potential up and coming economic powerhouse."

Harry had not ordered Ansiedora to take part in the investigations. This was a matter, he thought, for only his closest to be involved with—even Richard had been left in the dark as he had been ordered to take all letters and paper work from the Lestrange brothers immediately to Harry without opening them. They had taken up the position as his closest in the last few months, especially Rabastan who acted as something like a captain.

"I see," said Harry calmly. "While I trust your conclusions, I will do a bit of fact checking myself. Tomorrow, a circle meeting will be called and I want you to be here first. It will begin at seven pm, so I will expect you at six thirty, let's say?"

Both men nodded.

And, accordingly the brothers Lestrange arrived on time stepping out of the floo one after the other in Harry's study as the clock struck time.

After they sat down across from Harry, he spoke. "I will make it out as though I suspect it is you two to be the traitors. I want you, Rudolphus, to look a little bit guilty or smug as your fancy strikes. Rabastan," he looked at the other brother, "I want you to carefully observe Ansiedora's expression and we shall compare notes afterward."

They talked for a few more minutes, allowing Harry to glean further information from them before they made their way up to the meeting room.

Twelve people arrived as ordered and Harry and the Lestrange brothers acted out their charade; Harry did notice a brief flicker of smugness on Ansiedora's face when he hinted at his suspicions.

He gestured for Rabastan and Rudolphus to remain behind and then lead them to an informal sitting room where drinks were poured and observations compared.

"Hmm, Rudolphus? Can we perhaps arrange a meeting with Umbridge so I can triple check?" he asked.

* * *

_All men have the right to dig their own graves, and I have the right to sell them the shovels._

* * *

Harry crafted his disguise carefully. Glamors were cast, checked, double checked, and recast as necessary. Eventually, Harry was satisfied that it was air tight and looked at himself in the mirror. He had discovered that glamors that were as close to reality as possible were the most effective and thusly his hair was brown, his eyes were blue-green, and his skin a chalky white rather than his real, somewhat warmer tone. He had also changed his facial structure: high cheek bones, higher forehead, and a broader chin. Narrower shoulders and a voice change completed the disguise. On his way out the door of his cottage, he glanced at his hand with a slight smile. The shift back to youth had removed a few old scars, ones that were almost gone anyway, which included the _I must not tell lies_ that his old defense professor had left him with.

He met Rudolphus in the warm little cafe where he would chat with Umbridge and it was only after Harry caused his mark to tickle (whereupon Harry waved at him) that Rudolphus recognized him.

Harry shook his hand in greeting and introduced himself as Issac Merryweather before they sat down to await the last member of their luncheon. Now that she was technically unemployed, Umbridge had a lot of time to meet with people, especially anyone Rudolphus wanted her to meet and it was not long before the creature appeared.

"Delores," Rudolphus greeted her warmly. "This is Issac Merryweather, an ex-pat friend of mine who lives in the States now. He's visiting for a bit and I thought you might be interested in meeting him. Issac, this is my friend Delores Umbridge. She's very much involved with the creature rights repellation campaign."

"Pleased to meet you." Umbridge's voice was as breathy as ever and she smile coyly at him as she extended her hand.

"Charmed, I'm sure," Harry said, shaking it with a smile.

And they settled down to conversation over tea as they waited for their food. He dropped a few hints suggesting he was a member of society and one with some stature, though perhaps somewhat diminished by his many years of absence. And then names spilled from her lips.

"Do you perhaps know Ansiedora Aneris, Issac?" Umbridge asked eagerly. "She might be of great help to you in regaining a foothold in society, if that's what you're after," she added pretentiously, as if she was in a position to say such a thing. Harry was well aware that Umbridge was only accepted by high society for what she could do and that the moment she was useless, she would be dropped.

He was also somewhat offended by the fact that she apparently considered herself on first name basis with him already even though they had only met an hour ago, but he gave her a interested look. "I am interested in returning home. Would you be willing to introduce me?"

"Certainly!" she said instantly.

Harry would eat his hat if Umbridge hadn't dropped at least twice in Rudolphus's eyes for ignoring basic etiquette. She was probably sharing mental space with flobber worms and cockroaches at the moment.

"And she's been very helpful in the campaign to end the so-called 'creature rights' laws," Umbridge said, mockery in her voice when she said the last words.

Anyone who used the phrase 'so-called' immediately lost all credibility so far as Harry was concerned and he had to resist the urge to say something scathing. "Then I am most interested in meeting her," he said sweetly.

A day later, Rudolphus poked his head through the floo to Harry's office and handed over a letter from Umbridge, detailing an opportunity to meet Ansiedora. Harry hemmed and hawed with them over it for a day or two before settling on a day for him to join her weekly salon.

A smiling little house elf in a purple and silver toga greeted him at the door to Ansiedora's home in Edinburgh and immediately lead him a sitting room, where approximately five people were sitting and sipping tea, Umbridge among them.

After he had sat and been given a cup of his own (which he surreptitiously checked for unwelcome inclusions and found it clean) a few more people entered, and then a few more. Lastly, a man entered who caught Harry's eye. He was a strange, almost manic person who skittered rather than walked and reminded Harry of some sort of insect. He instantly wanted to crush the man who Ansiedora introduced as Edmund Newman.

"What business are you in, Mr. Merryweather?" he asked Harry without preamble.

"Silk," Harry lied smoothly. "From Asia to my company's head quarters in San Francisco. We're a small business but I'm thinking about expanding into Europe. And London would be the city of choice for any European expansion, of course."

"Would you be interested in a partnership, perhaps?" Newman asked, peering intently at Harry from under his hair. "I have been contemplating getting into the textile industry myself."

"Perhaps," said Harry, wanting to shelve any talk about his fictional business while trying to sound interested. "I think it would be best if we talked about it another time, though."

"After tea, maybe?" he suggested, unwilling to drop the subject.

Good god, thought Harry. The man is like a terrier! "I have to run in about an hour, I'm afraid. I'm supposed to meet up with my girlfriend and her father for an early dinner," he said with a laugh. It really wasn't too far from the truth, actually. He was meeting with Callisto later but it was too early to talk to Achelous yet, though perhaps that would change by the end of the hour.

"Ah, another time then, hm?" said Newman with a smile.

"Indeed," agreed Harry, relieved to have avoided the conversation about Merryweather Silks or whatever name he would have had to cook up on the spot.

Ansiedora commenced the discussion in earnest and it was no time at all before talk turned to how to repeal the laws and who they needed to talk to finish the job. And all the while, Umbridge gushed over what she thought Rudolphus would be willing to do.

He made his excuses and departed for his date with Callisto, pleased that he would finally have a reason to get out of the dog house.

The next night found Harry curled up in his cottage, reading a book by candle light as a fire crackled in his hearth. Hmm, Harry thought after reading it, a cruel curling his lips. If a day can cause such an effect, imagine what much longer periods can do?

* * *

 _Wroth like a zealot, believing in nothing and suspecting all.  
Annhilative, to the point of hyperbole.  
Passionate as napalm, yet contained and masterful like unto calligraphic strokes._ __  
We are now approaching the Aftermath, and it will shake the mountains asunder.  
There will be terrifying and uncontrollable events that will pave all for the Next Cycle in  
Her terrible works in this world.  
It will amaze us all.

* * *

Severus Snape was beginning to have serious doubts about maintaining neutrality. He had continued to observe Ansiedora and the vile Umbridge, watching them chip at the foundations Ibex had built himself and he did not like what he saw. Ibex went on as if he hadn't noticed anything, even though the laws he had fought for were on shaky ground. The clans and packs were muttering about it; Ibex was apparently seeing one of the ranking clan's women so he was certainly aware of their discomfort. But still he did nothing.

The muttering abruptly stopped in November. Snape frowned. It was an ominous, uncanny silence.

A winter ball was being held at Lucius's manor on the first week of December. It was a rather sudden affair, invitations whipping around in the course of two weeks and Lucius was unusually tight lipped about it. Snape was, of course, invited and managed to arrange things so he could attend.

The ball was extravagant and no expense had been spared in making this perfect. Silk and satin runners lined side tables, delicate charmed snow flakes fell from the ceiling, every light hung just so, every inch of marble gleamed like ice, and all the right people were there. And so were some of the wrong people—Umbridge, Richard, Tillman, and Snape himself, really. This was a place to see and be seen; Snape thought he belonged behind the scenes and not on the stage. Later he would wonder if this was a silent message.

People stood around in clusters as Narcissa and Lucius expertly moved guests around. " _You really should talk to Bernard. He's got something you might be interested in and—"_

Ansiedora stood out here, like a glittering snake goddess, lightly clad in lilac silk with glinting silver snakes coiling up her wrists, curling through her hair, and shinning at her neck. Richard stood at her side like a puppy, obliviously happy just to be with her as he talked with her and the other guests.

Snape had secreted himself next to a potted plant with a glass of wine in hand. He wished it were something much stronger, since he had the feeling that there was something distinctly wrong tonight.

Ibex floated through the crowd, too, resplendent in crimson robes as he and Rabastan circulated through the guests. They always stayed together, though they frequently met up with Callisto as well. This was, in itself, nothing strange. Everyone knew that Rabastan was Ibex's captain and it was well known that Callisto and Ibex were involved

What was unusual was the efficiency with which people were moved around by Narcissa and Lucius. They were setting something up, though in deference to Snape's aversion to parties they by and large left him alone. They did occasionally stop to check on him of course—that was etiquette.

Another oddity that caught his eye was the way they kept Umbridge and Rudolphus together. Snape knew a few things about Rudolphus, among which was the fact that despite the fact he had been married, he did not prefer the company of women and never had. Even if he had, Umbridge would not be one to catch his attentions. And yet, he was showering the wretched creature with compliments and attention as if he were in love with her; many of the other guest watched this with morbid fascination.

The party went on as Severus people-watched and eventually he noticed that Umbridge and Rudolphus had disappeared. He felt faintly nauseous and quickly turned his attention elsewhere. Ansiedora and Richard were also gone, though he was uncertain as to how long they had been so. He was quite certain that Ansiedora was not sleeping with Richard and from the way she had carefully kept him at arm's length the whole evening suggested she didn't intend to.

When the evening ended, the missing four had not turned up and Snape filed this information away for later consideration.

* * *

Rudolphus lead Delores Umbridge around the Malfoys' extensive gardens, chatting with her amicably in the fairy lights that lined the frosted path of the garden's maze. There were a number of secluded alcoves, too and it was into one of these that he lead her. She was a woman Rudolphus would be glad to be rid of, he thought as he lifted his wand with a smile on his face. A flash of green light lit the little space and an orange one followed. With that, Rudolphus tossed a port key on her body and left, feeling immensely satisfied as he strolled back toward the house along the privet lined paths.

Somewhere on the edge of the Arctic sea, a large stone appeared in midair and dropped through a thin crust of storm-fresh ice. After it had passed, the ice floated back up and settled again, almost as if nothing had happened.

* * *

 _"I have learned to hate all traitors, and there is no disease that I spit on more than treachery."_ —Aeschylus

* * *

Richard had been blindfolded and treated rather roughly after he had been spirited away from the Malfoys' party. He was forced to walk for an indeterminable length of time and eventually was shoved into a chair. The blindfold was stripped from his eyes and he found himself alone with Ibex, who looked disappointed and sad.

They sat in silence for some time, Richard too scared to speak. He knew exactly why he was here and knew that Ibex knew, too. He regretted everything that had brought him to this point.

Finally, Ibex asked him a simple question. "Why?"

He stared at the floor. "I...I don't know," he admitted, but looked up quickly. "I didn't mean to! She's been here since the beginning, my lord, and—"

"You thought you could trust her," Ibex interrupted gently. "I know. I watched you two this evening and she seduced you. Greater men than you have betrayed their countries, their families, and their ideals for someone they fell in love with."

There was a small, entirely undeserved stab of hurt in Richard's heart at his words. _Greater men_.

"I'm not going to kill you; you were her pawn and you are too honest a boy to have meant to. However," Ibex went on, "you will take an Unbreakable to never reveal what you know and you will step down from your position."

"Yes my lord," Richard said woodenly. "As you wish."

Ibex nodded gravely. "You will join the rank and file, though your superiors may promote you within reason." A hooded man appeared from the shadows and stood behind Ibex's chair. "Additionally," added Ibex, "you will tell me everything you know about Ansiedora's activities. I want names." A pause. "You will take the Unbreakable now," Ibex ordered.

Richard stood up and nodded again. They moved into the traditional positions when making such a vow and within moments, it was done.

The man in the shadows disappeared and Ibex began to take notes as Richard told him everything he knew.

When Richard left, Harry called Tilman to him and explained what he wanted of him. He needed a new secretary and the man seemed smart and more worldly than Richard was. Harry sighed.

Now, there was the matter of Ansiedora's willing accomplice to deal with. Edmund Newman would shortly be taking an out of country trip to pursue an exciting business opportunity, if Harry could arrange such a thing and just like Bertha Jorkins in his original time line, he would unfortunately disappear while in some far-off, swampy hell hole.

* * *

" _Dr. M. Meltzer, former Chief Medical Officer at Alcatraz Federal Penitentiary contributed his observations of psychiatric disturbances among prisoners exposed to punitive solitary confinement at Alcatraz. These prisoners were rarely confined for periods beyond one week. (Meltzer, 1956) Despite this, Dr. Meltzer described acute psychotic breakdowns among prisoners so confined..."_ - _Psychiatric Effects of Solitary Confinement_ by Dr. Stuart Graussian in Madrid v Gomez

* * *

Slowly drifting into hazy grey awareness, Ansiedora open her eyes and found she could not see. When she moved a hand to figure out what was going on, she found she could not move. She wiggled and thrashed, becoming increasingly more desperate in her attempts to free herself. Ansiedora started to hyperventilate in her panic and let loose a piercing scream that seemed to bounce off the walls.

No one came to her rescue. She was blinded, bound, and wandless on a cold floor and alone.

Tears started to flow and she eventually cried herself to sleep.

A rough nudge in the ribs roused her with a sticky-mouthed mumble and she lifted her head, only to find she was still blind-folded. Ansiedora lowered her head again and ignored another nudge before being rudely flipped over with a cry, dragged by her bonds to face her captor.

Something cold and hard brushed her skin as the ties between her hands and feet were cut. Two more swift movements freed her feet completely and then she was left alone for a moment. The smell of something hot and savory drifted across her nose.

Ansiedora moved to take off her blindfold but was stopped by an iron grip on one hand. She took it as a command to keep it on and obeyed until the heavy door slammed shut.

She was, she noticed now, in clothing not her own. It was soft, thin, cream colored cotton smock; far removed from the luxurious and ornate robes and dresses she normally wore.

With no sun and no way to mark the hours, time blended together. Her food came in through a little slot in the door and she never saw the face of her keeper. There was literally nothing for her to do: no books, no paper, and no way for her to divert herself.

She began to dream of finding her keeper and killing him slowly, torturing him to death. The faceless man danced in hot iron shoes in her head, was skinned and his hide hung on her wall. Ansiedora wished she had molten lead in which to drop him, a hot crucible to melt his teeth in, and a fork with which she could eat his eyeballs. The hard bit in the eyes—she couldn't remember what they were called—would make lovely earrings. They would gleam as subtly as moonstones.

* * *

 _""Enforced disappearance of persons" means the arrest, detention or abduction of persons by, or with the authorization, support or acquiescence of, a State or a political organization, followed by a refusal to acknowledge that deprivation of freedom or to give information on the fate or whereabouts of those persons, with the intention of removing them from the protection of the law for a prolonged period of time."_ —Rome Statue of the International Criminal Court, part 2, article 7(i) (Crimes Against Humanity)

* * *

Ansiedora's disappearance was not unremarked upon by some, mostly by the Order and a few older purebloods who were rather attached to the idea of old and noble lines like hers.

"Do you have any idea where she's gotten to?" asked Dumbledore, peering over his spectacles at Snape two weeks after the ball.

"Absolutely none," said Snape from where he sat at the Order meeting's table. "It's like she's dropped off the face of the earth. And nobody seems to know or be willing to talk about it, either."

"How about her boy toy?" asked Sirius. "Any word on him?"

"Yes," said Snape with a sharp nod. "He seems dejected but alive, which is more than I can perhaps say for Aneris or Umbridge. No one's heard from Umbridge as well."

"I imagine he—Ibex—has got a new secretary now?" Lily commented from where she sat at the far edge of the table with her son.

"I have not heard if he has or not, but I expect he will find a replacement soon if he hasn't already," Snape said with another nod. "I will perhaps make some inquiries about it."

"Please tell us what you find," said Dumbledore. "On all counts," he added before moving on to other Order business in the wake of the ball's events.

Lily's son caught Snape's attention for a moment. The boy, now five years old, was sitting with her and quietly eating carrot sticks and fish crackers. He met Snape's gaze with a solemn expression on his face and blinked owlishly at Snape, his eyes especially green in the light, before returning to his snack. He looked very intently at a fish cracker that was just out of his reach, reminding Snape of a cat ready to pounce.

Snape had seen that look on Ibex's face before and seeing it mirrored by a young child disturbed him on some level. The child's hand snapped the cracker off the table and he ate it with unabashed glee. Another look Snape had seen on Ibex's face. It shouldn't bother him so much, he thought. Common expressions. He turned his attention away from the boy and back to what was being said. But it was still eerie to see Ibex's actions and expressions repeated in miniature by a child.

* * *

"Do not waste your time lashing out in all directions at what seems like a many-headed enemy. Find the one head that matters—the person with the will power, or smarts, or, most important of all, charisma. Whatever it costs you, lure this person away, for once he is absent his powers will loose their effect." _The 48 Laws of Power_ by Robert Greene

* * *

Three weeks later, a post card from Ansiedora appeared in someone's post. She was apparently on holiday now, somewhere in the tropics if the picture on the front was anything to go by. Walburga Black, who had been worried about her, relaxed with a sigh. She had often wished she could drop everything and go to a nice sunny beach in the Caribbean and she envied Ansiedora's ability to do so.

Umbridge, on the other hand, had apparently gone off with Rudolphus Lestrange to Spain on a surprise trip. Which honestly horrified her. He couldn't possibly be planning to propose to that creature, could he? Walburga would introduce legislation to allow spear hunting of toad people before she saw Rudolphus wed to Umbridge.

A month later he reappeared sans Umbridge, refusing to talk about her and shuddering when someone tried to pry information about her. Mrs. Black felt more relief than she dared to admit to herself.

* * *

" _A multiyear sentence of punitive solitary confinement is an imposition of pain of staggering proportions..."_ - _Psychiatric Effects of Solitary Confinement_ by Dr. Stuart Graussian in Madrid v Gomez

* * *

With no one to talk to, no one to remind Ansiedora she was a person, and no one to give her a place in their world, there was nothing for her to hang on to; trapped in her head, she lost her place in her own world. Ansiedora began to ramble about anything that came to mind when the silence became unbearable. She started to scream and sob, banging her fists against the walls and door. She knew there was a world beyond that door, one she did not have access to.

* * *

The ramifications of Umbridge's machinations and Ansiedora's adventuring were something Harry struggled with for months and only the knowledge that Umbridge was at the bottom of a sea somewhere and that Ansiedora was languishing in a cell made from a muggle bomb shelter made him feel a little better.

Purebloods had seen that the tide had been turned back and one or two of them had picked up Umbridge's crusade. It was, for some reason, harder to overcome their resistance this time and several of the people Harry had used last time had already spent their political capital for the time being. Rudolphus Lestrange was an exception but even his best efforts were not enough.

He eventually came to the conclusion that he needed help from Dumbledore to achieve stability once again.

* * *

"The Swedish psychotherapist Poul Bjerre...wrote, "I think Nietzsche was right when he said that Lou [Andreas-Salomé] was a thoroughly evil woman. Evil however in the Goethean sense: evil that produces good..."" _The Art of Seduction_ by Robert Green

* * *

A letter arrived by owl to Albus Dumbledore's office one January morning. It was the last owl through the window to join the queue of them, and, other than that, there was nothing immediately remarkable about the bird and Dumbledore paid it no mind for the moment.

The envelopes and packages the animals carried were removed and most of the owls took off shortly thereafter while those who had been instructed to wait moved to an extremely long perch kept for this purpose. Wading through the sheer amount of mail he got every morning tended to take an hour at best and up to three at the worst.

Finally, he got the last envelope to read a letter in familiar handwriting. Ibex was requesting his help in preventing the repellation of the werewolf and vampire rights laws. Dumbledore sat down at his desk and marveled once again at Ibex's ability to be an absolute mystery.

On one hand, he fought tooth and nail for civil rights; on the other he had cruelly killed ten people that Dumbledore knew of and hadn't shown a shred of remorse. He had explained who he was without too much prodding and asked for (and sort of offered) help on these civil rights issues. He toyed with Severus and seemed amused by the pained bewilderment of James and Lily and the confusion of Dumbledore himself, Sirius, and Remus.

He folded his arms on his desk and rested his chin on his crossed wrists. Politics dictate that one must be willing to work with one's bitterest enemy to get things done occasionally. Ibex was not openly involved with politics but he was still a force to be reckoned with. Civil rights, freedom from persecutions for those who need it most, that, that might be worth surrendering his ideals for a moment.

But for all that Ibex was on the same team on equality, he was still an enemy.

* * *

" _Almost a third of the prisoners described hearing voices, often in whispers, often saying frightening things to them. There were also reports of noises taking on increasing meaning and frightening significance. ... These perceptual changes at times became more complex and personalized..."_

* * *

Ansiedora began to hallucinate. The door grew bigger or smaller, shifted shape, became glass and then molten rock. Voices began to mumble in her ear, telling her to hurt herself. Cut your wrists, they told her. Surely that will get its attention and you will be free. Is that an insect buried beneath your skin? You should get it out before it eats you up. Monsters of unspeakable horror crawled out of the walls, from the slot her food came from, and from under her little cot.

* * *

Even with both Harry's team and Dumbledore's on the case, it was a struggle to control the campaign. It took some cajoling, but once Sirius had been suitably reminded that Remus was potentially on the line, he became the key. Being a Black, he had been groomed for politics and he had learned the lessons, even if he hadn't wanted to. He had been told where the bodies were buried by his father and he used that knowledge to his advantage.

Between he and and Rudlophus, the campaign was eventually under their control, if only barely. The next step was to suffocate it.

* * *

" _Inevitably, this resulted in their being sentenced to terms in the SHU, and once in the SHU, their subsequent course was often a nightmare. Many became grossly disorganized and psychotic...some even descending to the horror of eating parts of their own bodies."_

* * *

It became painful to stand, sit, lie down, or even wear her smock. It made sense to smear the walls with her own urine and feces, to claw her skin, bite herself, and scream for hours. The sound of breathing began to bother her and she held her breath until she passed out. The smell of her unwashed body made her sick, the smell of her food made her nauseous. She wanted desperately to kill herself.

Her mind fled the fear, the monsters, and the aching, silent emptiness of her own head.

* * *

Owls flew back and forth between Dumbledore and Ibex constantly, discussing an idea James and Lily Potter had had. The goal now was to introduce a law that would take attention off the creatures' rights laws. The question was, what could they introduce? And who by? It had to be either someone who had a fair bit of political capital or a newcomer who was willing to functionally exile himself from politics.

* * *

" _In 1988,...in...a class-action challenging the confinement of a small group of women in a subterranean security housing unit at the Federal Penitentiary in Lexington, Kentucky, I had the opportunity to interview several women...These women had been convicted of having committed politically motivated crimes, were all highly educated, and had a history of relatively strong psychological functioning prior to their confinement...[E]ach of them demonstrated significant psychopathological reactions to their prolonged confinement in a setting of severe environmental and social isolation."_

* * *

There was a gentle nudge that roused her from sleep and she rolled over to see a face—a human face!

"Hey, your breakfast is here," it said, pointed to a small metal try.

She stayed silent and still, trying to place the word "breakfast." She knew she knew that word, but didn't know what it meant. And then there were those green eyes and that black hair. Why were they familiar?

"Do I need to come back?" it asked, moving to leave.

"No!" Ansiedora cried. "Stay!"

It paused obligingly as she scrambled off her cot and scooted to the tray. A chair appeared out of no where and the other person settled on it, watching her shovel food into her mouth.

After she finished, she skittered up against a wall and squatted there, watching the other person. It watched her back for a while before staring up at the ceiling. She was content with that because at least the person was here and she was not alone.

Slowly, slowly, she moved closer to it until she was huddled against a chair leg.

"Would you like to bathe?" it asked her, looking down at her now.

The words mean nothing for a moment as she dug through her memory for a while. Ah. Clean. "Yes."

The chair shifted and she grabbed for a leg, only to be stopped by a hand. A warm, wonderfully human hand pressed against her skinny shoulder and she stopped to revel in human touch, ignoring the movement. The hand disappeared but she could feel the other person behind her as it knelt. A soft cloth went over her eyes and a hand went under each arm and tugged her upwards. They were tied behind her back with a soft rope and the person steered her around. She honestly had no idea where to, but the feeling of a warm hand and the knowledge that there was finally another person here was enough.

When the cloth was removed from her eyes, she found herself in a cold tiled room with shiny metal shower heads protruding from the walls and a knob under each. The clothing she wore was lifted over her head and the person pushed her over to the shower and pulled knob. Warm water flowed from it and she simply stood there, letting the water run over her skin. The person tapped her shoulder and offered her a bar of soap and a piece of cloth, covered in bubbles. A gesture explained what it expected from her and she accepted and followed the instructions.

It felt nice to remove the film that coated her body and she spent a long time washing herself to enjoy the sensation, scrubbing every inch of skin. Eventually, the person tapped her shoulder again and held out a hand; she reluctantly surrendered the cloth and then the water disappeared. But the person, a man she remembered, handed her a warm towel and then a new, clean smock to wear.

He tapped her shoulder again. "Come here," he gestured with a finger.

She followed his command and he covered her eyes again.

When the cloth was removed, there were soft couches and unfamiliar but appetizing food on a table.

"Sit, Delilah," the man said and pointed at a sofa.

She sat, accepting the name. After a moment's though, she decided she liked it, too. It felt satisfying to know another person thought of her.

He stood behind her and began to brush her hair. That felt nice.

"You shall call me Harry," the man told her.

"Ok," Delilah mumbled, eyes closed to better enjoy the sensation of the brush in her hair. After Harry had satisfied himself that her hair was orderly, he handed her the brush and walked to sit on another couch.

He didn't speak to her again and she started brushing her hair herself, and after a moment lying down on the couch she had been directed to sit on. It was so pleasant and comfortable after so long on a stiff cot. Gradually, Delilah drifted off to sleep.

Harry watched Ansiedora doze on the sofa. She was so thin and almost mindless now, after almost a year of total seclusion. He had expected her to last much longer than she had before she crumbled to bits—he had read up on the subject and knew what long term, total isolation did to a person. It was toxic and people who were isolated were wrecks afterwards; but he had never found a case like this in his research. She now seemed to focus exclusively on sensations and his presence. Ansiedora was not the catatonic doll or the wretched creature, lost in a permanent cloud that was so often left afterwards. She was so very innocent, now that she had lost herself.

He could rebuild her mind now to suit himself if he wished. But he didn't want to; some angry, dark part of him whispered to him that she was a traitor, a liar, and vile. _She deserves to die,_ it said _. She would have betrayed you, would have buried you alive. Broken. Powerless. Trapped._

He would decide later what to do with her.

There was a gentle knock on the door and Callisto entered the room, sauntering towards him. She paused and raised an eyebrow at him after taking in the sleeping, clean Ansiedora.

"Is there anything I should know about?" There was something insulting in her tone.

He scowled at her. "No. She was beautiful before and I wasn't attracted to her then; she's lost that beauty if you haven't noticed and I'm certainly not interested in a shell. I like intelligent, strong women with a certain something. You have that and, accordingly, I am very attracted to you." Harry smiled at Callisto. "Sit with me, please?"

She smiled back and finished her trek to his couch, settling against him contentedly. Ansiedora shifted in her sleep, mumbling into the cushions.

"What did you do to her?" she asked him, eying Ansiedora uncoordinated moments and the way she jerked her head.

"Left her alone with herself for a year." he said vaguely, watching the creature on the sofa, too. "She's really not herself anymore. Call her Delilah, please," Harry added.

"All right," Callisto nodded. "Are we planning to stay here the whole time," she asked after a while, slightly irritated, "Or can we go back to your place?" Her smile was almost a smirk and she raised an eyebrow at him with amusement.

Harry smiled at her. "If you want to, sure. Let me put her away and then we can head off."

Callisto nodded and he woke Ansiedora, carefully tying her up before leading her away. When they reached her cell, he encouraged her in and conjured toys and books and other things to keep her distracted for the first time in a year. She would not be by herself for the moment.

With that, he returned to the room where Callisto lounged, offered her his arm and walked with her to the passworded floo.

Ramshackle cottage was home, but even more so when Callisto was there.


	11. Conspiracy

_A memory is what is left when something happens and does not completely unhappen. —Edward de Bono_

* * *

_Country music blared over crackling speakers in a small, dark muggle bar in Pecos, Texas. Harry sat on an ancient, stained bar stool, a glass of bad beer in hand and Hermione perched next to him, sipping some sort of mixed drink. She was drunk and would later admit that one can, indeed, drink until he's cute. The man chatting her up was a large, burly fellow in his late twenties, just as they were, and he was as drunk as Hermione was. The man was not bad looking, strictly speaking, but he exuded bravado and machismo. Tattoos snaked out over his arms from under his dingy t-shirt, and his jeans were torn and badly patched. A beer bottle hung idly between his finger tips._

_Harry didn't care that she was flirting someone and he didn't blame the man because Hermione was pretty. But the way the man was eying her, as if she were a particularly tasty piece of steak, bothered him. Harry needed to use the loo but was absolutely not going to leave her alone with the man when she was this drunk._

_This whole town set him on edge, with its gritty, abandoned look. Boarded up buildings lined the dusty streets where trash lingered in the gutters and sun scorched weeds reached with desperate, wiry fingers for the blazing hot concrete through chain link fences; it was dead, like Hogsmeade had been since 1997. No, he would not leave Hermione alone with a denizen of this hell hole and they would be gone by morning._

_"Hermione," Harry said, placing a hand on her knee. "I think we ought to turn in for the night. Got to be off early, you know."_

_She nodded with a drunken smile. "All right, let me finish my—"_

_She was cut off when the man removed Harry's hand from her knee with a crushing grip on his wrist and a furious look on his face. "I'm talkin' to the lady, so back off!"_

_The half the room hushed and their eyes were on them._

_Harry twisted his wrist free with some effort and smiled frostily. "No."_

_The man leaned in close to Harry's face, expecting him to back off or flinch. Harry did not, looking back at the man with an almost reptilian expression. The man narrowed his eyes at Harry and put the hand holding the bottle on the bar, boxing him in. Harry moved a hand to his wand but still did not change his expression. Merely, he tilted his head and continued to meet the stare._

_"Back off." Beery breath washed over Harry's face._

_"Hermione," he said loudly. "Would you like to turn in for the night or continue to talk with the man?"_

_Hermione hummed for a moment. "Go to sleep," she said. "We do have to take off in the morning."_

_"She's only sayin' that 'cause you want her to go," the man hissed._

_"No," Harry corrected. "She says that because we do leave in the morning. I merely reminded her."_

_The man bared his teeth and slammed his bottle on edge of the bar and he cried out in pain, yanking his hand close to his chest and clutching it. Shards of glass glittered in his flesh and blood began to run down his wrist._

_With the howl of agony and the shattering glass, the world shifted abruptly and it was the Leaky Cauldron. Harry was now standing and he drew his wand, ducking and dodging Death Eater curses as bottle after bottle behind the bar exploded. The mirror shattered as spells bombarded the room. He almost tripped over something and a glance downward showed him it was the body of Tom, the pub's owner, that he had stumbled over.  
_  
Harry started with a gasp, sitting up. He searched the floor and bed wildly for a moment, before he moved to sit on the edge of his bed, resting his head between his hands. Eventually, he looked over as Callisto shifted in her sleep, pulling the blankets up to her chin with a sigh. Eventually, he smiled a little and got up, rubbing the heel of his hand against his left eye before getting up. Heading to the kitchen, he brewed a cup of tea and waited for the Prophet.

When it arrived, he found an article in the middle of the second page reporting Edmund Newman's death. He had drowned in quicksand in Burma. What a shame. He flicked the paper to straighten it and moved on.

Raffles Pyrite was mentioned on the third page in. Harry and the others had convinced him to advocate for a law intended to protect the Wizarding world from potentially dangers lurking on the horizon, calling it the Citizen Protection bill. Harry, from necessity and general interest, had watched what was going on in the Muggle world in the twenty first century, and well remembered terrorism; the law would reflect some of the best and worst of the laws he could remember from the muggle world, encouraging reporting weird objects, and so on. In the case of an actual attack, it was possible that owl letters would be randomly read and long term detention of "people of interest" (though they would be told what they were being held for - something Harry had specified as a requirement for a few reasons). He had doubts it could spread into the Wizarding world, though. There simply wasn't the right mix of history and present circumstance, but it hadn't taken too much effort to convince everyone else that it might (lurid descriptions of different attacks did the job).

Raffles Pyrite had been selected very carefully, specifically because he reminded Harry of a competent and savvier Gilderoy Lockheart. His flair for the dramatic and social position as the scion of one of the older families made him a good choice for a standard bearer.

James and Sirius had expressed some concern that the law wouldn't pass, or even be noticed, because there wasn't the history necessary for some of the dangers Harry described, but they were over ruled. The rest of the Order had decided to use the bill anyway, despite their concerns, once they had heard lurid descriptions of bodies falling from the sky and casualty numbers reaching into the thousands in the Muggle world.

Harry was pretty sure James and Sirius were right, however. For the moment.

* * *

_One trouble with trouble is that is usually starts out like fun_

* * *

Harry was very bored. His mum was shopping for a new dress robe for some office party and Harry had, unfortunately, had to come along because everyone else was busy. He lurked near the front of Madam Malkin's, listening to the chatter of shop girls and customers. Looking around for something to do, he eyed clothes racks speculatively. What an excellent place to hide while waiting.

The door bell tinckled as someone stepped in and he ignored it in favor of burrowing through the hanging robes and shirts, foraging ahead into undiscovered territory. Reaching the end of it, he turned around and went back. When he peeped his head out, he was greeted by an amused and slightly incredulous blonde boy around his age.

"What?" asked Harry, a bright blue shirt sleeve caught in his unruly hair. "Never done this?"

"No," said the boy, shaking his head. "My mum would get mad at me."

Harry stepped out. "Mine, too. So I do it when she's not looking," he explained with a grin.

The boy nodded with a smile of his own and stuck out his hand. "Draco," he introduced himself.

"Harry."

The two boys entertained themselves for a while while their mothers shopped, unaware of each other and the other's child's presence in the shop. They hid in racks of clothing and made up stories about their games, though they made sure to stay quiet so as not to attract a grown up's attention.

"Harry!" Draco said, grabbing his arm. He pointed at the shop's window, where a blonde man walked passed in the snow. "That's my father! Let's go see if he'll get us hot chocolate!"

Harry paused for a minute, knowing he should probably talk to him mum before running off...but maybe just this once? The boys took off, scampering out the shop door and shooting up the alley after Draco's father. They lost him in the snowy crowd soon, though, and stopped on the side of the road to try to find him again.

Lily was ready to go now, her robes perfectly tailored and paid for. "Harry," she called. "Harry! Let's go!"

There was no answer and she frowned, checking the racks and behind mirrors and any other place a six year old might think to hide, asking the clerks as she went. Before long, she had searched the whole store and come up empty-handed. Maybe he had stepped outside.

"Harry! Harry!" she called again, exiting the shop, her anxiety elevating.

There was no reply.

* * *

Lucius could think of little else to do. He had no idea where the Potters lived or how to contact them to tell them he had found their little boy, who had run off with Draco in hopes of sweets. Despite loathing the boy's parents, he did understand a parent's plight when their child was missing, though that was a secondary motive. He also suspected Lord Ibex would be very displeased if word reached him that Lucius had left the child to fend for himself. Draco was upstairs now, on time-out until Lucius returned to dole out further consequences, and the Potter boy, scared and on the verge of tears, was with him before the fireplace in his library.

He threw a handful of Floo powder into the grate and called called the address to Lord Ibex's study, hoping he was there. The man's assistant answered and within a few moments, Lord Ibex himself appeared.

"I have the Potter boy with me," Lucius explained. "He ran off with Draco when their mothers were at Malkin's. I don't know how to contact them, but I thought you might have the resources."

Lord Ibex nodded. "Come through, please, and bring him with you."

Lucius nodded and withdrew to talk to the boy. "I'm going to take you to someone who can get you home," he said gently. He would prefer the child not to cry or have a fit, so a gentle tone it was. "But we have to go through the Floo to get there. Have you ever traveled by Floo?"

The boy nodded shakily, sniffling.

"All right," Lucius said. "I'm going to send you through first, ok? There will be a man there to greet you. You will call him Lord Ibex," he added sternly.

Potter nodded again. "O-ok."

It took a little bit of a push to get the boy through the grate to a place he hadn't been, but soon enough they both emerged in the study of Lord Ibex. Lucius found himself a little surprised to see his Lord talking to the child and attempting to get him to relax.

Lord Ibex looked up at him. "Thank you, Lucius. I will see him home."

With that, Lucius returned to the manor to deal with his own son. A lecture and no broom privileges for two weeks was probably enough, he thought.

* * *

Harry looked down at his younger self with a mixture of amusement and fondness as the child stood awkwardly in front of the hearth and shifted from foot to foot with his eyes downcast. The little fellow had had the scare of his life and would probably not be wandering away for him family ever again. "It's ok," he said gently. "We'll get you home, ok? Want some hot chocolate and biscuits while you wait?"

Little Harry nodded, subdued and still sniffling.

"All right. Any preference? Chocolate chip? Sugar?"

"Chocolate chip, please," came the very meek reply.

"Ok. Sit down and we'll get those biscuits for you," Harry said and called Tillman to him. "Take care of the boy, please, and read him a story or something. I'll work on finding his parents."

Tillman gave him a resigned nod, perhaps displeased to have to babysit a scared child.

Harry left them to it and went to work on finding a Marauder, Lily, or someone acceptable to them, sending out a couple owls. One to the Potter's home, one to Remus and Sirius's flat, one to where James worked in the ministry, and one to Dumbledore. Each note told them to meet him in Hogsmead at the Three Broomsticks at six o'clock.

Dumbledore's owl made it back first.

* * *

At five thirty, Harry glamored himself, fetched his younger self and asked Tillman to accompany them to the meeting place. Together, they made their way to the Three Broomsticks by Floo, sending Tillman first, then the boy, and lastly, Harry. The pub was crowded and noisy, but soon enough cries of "Harry!" reached their ears. Sirius, Remus, the Potters, and Dumbledore, too, all hurried toward them and the boy ran to them. It was tearful reunion, everyone involved glad the child was in one piece.

Harry saw no reason to stick around once his younger self had found his family, so he and Tillman returned to the Floo and went back the way they came.

* * *

Harry was bombarded with questions by his parents, his godfathers, and Professor Dumbledore the moment they returned to their booth. "Are you all right?" and "did he hurt you?" being the ones most oft repeated.

Harry snuggled between his parents, happy to be back with them. "I'm ok and no, he didn't hurt me. He had a man read me a story and gave me biscuits," he explained once the questions slowed.

His dad and godfather looked at him incredulously while his mum pulled out her wand cast a lot of spells on him. Nothing seemed to show up that worried her and she relaxed a little before looking at the Professor. "Check his mind?"

The man nodded and looked at Harry. "Look at me, please," the Professor asked and Harry felt a little bit like he was being looked _through_ rather than at. After a while, the Professor looked back at his mum. "He's fine and telling the truth. Ibex didn't do anything untoward."

Everyone seemed to breath a sigh of relief.

"Who was it that found you?" asked Sirius.

Harry shrugged one shoulder. "Draco's dad, Mr. Malfoy."

Sirius's eyebrows reached for his hair. "Draco's dad," he repeated. "How did you meet Draco, Harry?"

Harry shrugged again, not meeting his godfather's eyes. "We were in the shop and bored, so we started playing. And then Draco saw his dad and said we could probably get him to give us hot chocolate."

"Did he?" asked his dad, half curious and half worried.

"No," Harry shook his head. "He lectured us both, tried to find Mum for me, and then took me to his house. And then he took me to Lord Ibex, who found you."

A look Harry didn't really understand crossed the grown ups' faces before Remus looked at him. "Who told you to call him that?"

"Draco's dad," said Harry with a half shrug, studying the scratched table in front of him rather than the grown ups who were watching him. He didn't know what exactly was going on, but he didn't like the feel of it and it was easier not to look at them.

"What did he tell you to call him?" the Professor asked, and Harry could feel his eyes on him.

"He didn't tell me to call him anything."

* * *

 _It's surprising how much memory is built around things unnoticed at the time. —Barbara Kingsolver,_ Animal Dreams

* * *

The visit with Harry's younger self made him think about Hermione, now a little girl of six. He thought about checking in on her, though he was sure that she was happy enough, despite the isolation her intelligence brought upon her. Her homelife before Hogwarts had always sounded rosy to him, anyway.

Harry now wondered if his younger self would be able to make friends with Hermione like he had, since this Harry was much different than he himself had been at eleven. He never would have been able to calm down if such thing like this afternoon had happened to him while he was in Petunia's custody, fearing his uncle's impending, painful wrath, but little Harry had managed to calm down enough within an hour to enjoy his biscuits and story time a little. Would the boy be able and willing to deal with Hermione's initial obnoxiousness and know-it-all attitude? He hoped so, because Hermione had been important to him from the time they were eleven on, and even now she loomed large in his mind. He wanted his younger self to have the chance to have that, too.

* * *

_From the halls of Montezuma to the shores of Tripoli, we are all tools of the Conspiracy..._

* * *

It was dark and quiet in the Ministry Atrium. the golden light of the ceiling sigils providing the faintest of illumination. Harry had a small orb of softly glowing witchfire hovering over his head as he worked on the gaudy fountain that sat in the middle of the atrium. Hissing and the sound of buzzing sparks proceeded the smell of cloves and sulfur. Satisfied with his work, but not yet done, Harry went about, laying signs of things to come.

* * *

_When things are too perfect, be nervous._

* * *

Snape suspected Ibex had been up to something when he had suggested the "Citizen Protection" bill, and had, to his disquiet, agreed with Potter and Black when they thought that there was too little possibility for anything to happen for it to be viable. His suspicion increased when the man had told them stories of what he had seen in the future; it was possible, he supposed, that it could happen in the Muggle world, but not here in the Wizarding one.

And this, he thought as he read the paper, was too perfect. The statue fountain in the Atrium had exploded during the beginning of the rush hour, killing fifteen people and wounding more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't make the timeline very clear in-fic. D:
> 
> Time line:  
> Ch 1: August - November '81  
> Ch 2: December '81  
> Ch 3/4: Early '82  
> Ch 5: June-August '82  
> Ch 6: Fall of '82-Summer '83  
> Ch 7: Summer '83  
> Ch 8: Summer '83 - Winter '83  
> Ch 9: Spring - August 1984  
> Ch 10: July 1985 – December 1986  
> Ch 11: January 1987


	12. Storn Warning

_"A man wrapped up in himself makes a very small bundle."_ -Benjamin Franklin

* * *

Deliah was scared. The man had put her back in her room and all her toys were gone. She was by all alone again! Time wore on and she began to loose herself. She cried first, great heaving sobs and hyperventilating between each bout. Where was Harry? Why was she alone again? Soon though, she only surfaced sometimes from an empty, timeless void to find herself staring at a wall.

* * *

**_We're hand in hand in Aftermath  
the age of what will be  
Horizon smoke is rising  
from the wreckage that is We  
And in the smoke what shapes will form?  
What phantoms will we make?  
For we are made of form and formula  
but also dross mistake_ ** **  
**   
_-_ __Black Iron Prison_ _

* * *

Under the limelight, Raffles Pyrite looked out at the assembly before him, sorrow in his eyes. He didn't like what had happened and didn't like where things were going. A crowd had crammed themselves into the room with the Wizengamot, sitting in darkened galleries along the sides, all looking anxiously at him. His cry for the Citizens Protection bill had been oh-so timely and now they looked to him for leadership. The bill would probably be passed today.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he called, reciting the lines Lord Ibex had given him. "It was with the greatest sorrow that I heard of the attack yesterday, which took so many from us." His gaze swept the room, taking in the stoic, sad, scared, and tearful faces around him. "I must urge the utmost haste in passing the Citizens Protection bill. We don't know if this will be the only attack – there could be more! We must _protect_ ourselves!" He struck the podium he stood at with a clenched fist. "We cannot allow another instance like this! Fifteen people died, my friends – _fifteen!_ Fifteen too many!" He paused. "Never again! _Never again! Never again!_ " Raffles chanted. The crowd took it up, and the sound echoed on the cavernous ceiling and filled the room.

* * *

After his speech, Raffles was shuffled to Lord Ibex's office by Lucius Malfoy and Rabastan Lestrange. He felt small and lost, and like he was caught up in something much larger than himself. The office was huge and dark, and a small golden light sat off in the distance. Malfoy and Lestrange left him at the door, closing it behind them. Two dark shapes moved in the deep shadows of the book cases that lined the aisle leading to Ibex's workspace, making for him and they paused when he lit his wand.

They were Lord Ibex's famed obsidian statues of his namesake, their silver-chased bodies and golden wings and horns glinting in the cold blue light of his wand. They moved again, flanking him, their golden hooves soundless on the stone floor. He felt a cool breeze ruffle his robe as they opened their wings, blocking any potential attempt to turn around. In eerie unison, they took one step forward, indicating that he was to move forward. When he did so, a gust of wind flooded passed him as the two closed their wings and followed him at a stately pace. Some time later, a thin, high whistle echoed through the room and they surged toward the call, leaving him alone.

The helplessness increased and he desperately wanted to turn tail and run. He couldn't. He had gone too far and Lord Ibex doubtlessly knew he was there. Raffles swallowed his fear and walked toward the golden candle light.

Lord Ibex smiled at him when he reached the workspace. Raffles was surprised. It was a warm, well lit space and there were several comfortable chairs before his desk.

"Sit." Lord Ibex indicated the one nearest him. "Would you like something to drink?"

Raffles debated the wisdom of accepting a drink but decided it would be better to avoid offending his Lord. "Tea would be appreciated," he said carefully.

To his surprise, Lord Ibex poured them both a cup by hand and handed over a saucer and tea cup personally.

"I hear you did very well," he said after a moment. "I'm very pleased, I must say. I expect the bill will be in effect very soon."

Raffles forced a smile. "I live to please."

Lord Ibex waved a dismissive hand. "I hope that's part of your life – you did accept the oath, after all, but I loathe kowtowing. I don't want lackeys and yes-men. I want actual people with real opinions. "

Raffles wasn't quite sure what to do with that, so he simply nodded.

There was a moment of quiet, both men sipping their tea. Lord Ibex studied him intently. "I understand you have some reservations about all this?" When Raffles shifted uncomfortably and remained silent, Lord Ibex sighed irritably.

"One of the stupidest things Voldemort did was punish his people for having opinions and thoughts of their own. I will not repeat that mistake. I _expect_ people to have those sort of things, if they're worth keeping around in a real capacity because I am not perfect, I do not know everything, and different viewpoints are valuable." Lord Ibex pause for a moment. "Your reaction was reported to me and it's very much understandable. Simply because such things don't bother me so much when I think they're necessary doesn't mean that that applies to everyone. I would be concerned if that were the case, actually." He sipped his tea. "Was the report correct?"

Raffles nodded hesitantly.

Lord Ibex smiled warmly. "See? That wasn't so bad, was it? Now, I would like to extend an invitation to join the first rank. Would you be willing to accept this?"

Raffles felt the feeling of helplessness retreat some and he nodded. Lord Ibex smiled.

* * *

The Citizens Protection Bill passed with two dissenters – Albus Dumbledore and Phineas Standfordshire. The _Prophet_ hauled them over the coals, with scathing remarks about their lack of concern for public safety. Dumbledore remained mute, choosing to ignore the furor, while Standfordshire launched into a polemic screed about the loss of liberties and evil people who wanted to permanently take their freedoms. He all but named Harry, who observed this with some amusement. Yes, it was a loss of liberties. No, it would not last forever. And anyway, all he had done was set up the circumstances and put things in motion – the Citizens Protection bill was something they had done to themselves. If more lawmakers had a spine and a brain in their heads, then it never would have passed.

Harry had a very special scapegoat in mind, one who, after a long goose chase, would be easy to pin it on.

"Tillman," he called, contemplating how exactly to trap the man in question. "I have someone I need you to call."

* * *

Molly Weasly didn't like where the world was going. She had seven children who would inherit the world after her and she'd like it if it was a nicer one than the one she'd entered on her seventeenth birthday. She watched her youngest two playing together. Or rather, she watched Ginny try to keep up with Ron without much success. She smiled to herself. Molly knew how that felt, being the younger sister of a set of twin boys.

A sigh. It was better now that You-Know-Who was gone. That, she believed. But her brothers told her there was a new man who had taken his stead, called Lord Ibex. Molly hadn't seen anything to prove that, though she wanted to believe her brothers. It sounded like a conspiracy theory they had cooked up to fill a vacuum in their lives – they had dedicated themselves to fighting a fantastic evil in the world and with Voldemort gone, there was no such thing anymore; only mundane ones like bigotry and corruption. The fantastic was much easier to fight than the real because it had a name and a face. Bigotry knew no name and corruption had no face.

* * *

"Rabastan," Harry greeted with a smile as the man approached his desk.

"My lord," he said with a nod and a smile of his own as he sat in the chair Harry indicated.

"I have what's going to sound like a horribly inconsequential thing for you to do today," Harry said after tea had been poured and drank.

Rabastan raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

Harry explained.

Rabastan stared at him uncomprehendingly. "What?"

* * *

Barty Crouch, Junior was so nervous he was almost shaking as he sat, half-perched, on a small chair outside Lord Ibex's office. He had no idea what Lord Ibex could possibly want from him. Some part of him hoped it was because his lord recognized his potential – he had it! He definitely had potential, even if other people – namely his father – never saw it. He jumped when the door flew open. The huge figure of Rabastan Lestrange stormed through the door and glared at him, as though he had purposely caused of the end of the world. With a sneer, Lestrange stalked off, disappearing down the candle lined hallway. Barty heard someone cluck with disapproval and turned around to see Lord Ibex standing at the door, one hand on the knob.

With a smile, the man gestured for him to follow as he turned to walk into the room. Barty almost tripped over himself in his haste to comply, which, to his great relief, Lord Ibex seemed to be oblivious to. _Perhaps he's used to bunglers,_ a disdainful little voice said to him. He crushed the thought and followed his Lord into the office. Whatever it was, Barty would do it and do it well, even if it killed him.

Lord Ibex walked ahead of him, his ibex statues trailing behind. One of them turned to stare at Barty, curiosity on its face. It tilted its head at him like a puppy before seeming to shrug to itself and turning around to catch up to Lord Ibex and the other statue. When they reached the end of the rows of book cases which lined the path from the door to Lord Ibex's desk, the statues hared off into the shadows, racing passed Barty.

Lord Ibex continued to make his way to his desk and settled behind it. Barty floundered for a moment, not sure what he was supposed to be doing. Lord Ibex smiled at him and pointed to a chair. "Sit," he said. "Tea?" he asked, as an assistant came appeared at his elbow with a pot and cups. When Barty nodded, Lord Ibex retrieved the cups and pot from his assistant before dismissing him with a quiet word.

Tea was poured and Barty was handed a cup. He waited until Lord Ibex took a sip before doing anything and they sat in silence for a while. Barty tried to figure out what to do with himself, feeling awkward and exposed as his lord examined him.

He eventually gave up on waiting for Lord Ibex to speak first. "You, you wanted me to do something?"

"Yes," said Lord Ibex. "I have a very specific thing in mind for you." He reached into his robe and retrieved a small, brightly glowing golden orb. "I want this placed in your father's house somewhere. It doesn't matter where, so long as he'll never see it." Lord Ibex extended his arm, indicating that Barty should take it.

Barty nodded, reaching for it. It was warm and smelled of cloves and sulfur, he noticed as he tucked it in a pocket. "An-anything I need to know about it?"

Lord Ibex looked at the ceiling above Barty's head for a long moment. "Keep it away from house elves, if you have any." He met Barty's eyes.

Barty nodded. "I will."

"Good," Lord Ibex said with a smile. "Now, I have a few things I'd like your take on," he said as he leaned forward over his desk.

* * *

 _"Know how to use your enemies for your own profit. You must learn to grab the sword not by its blade, which would cut you, but by the handle, which allows you to defend yourself. The wise man profits more from his enemies, than a fool from his friends."_ \- Baltasar Gracián

* * *

It was Christmas in July for Rita Skeeter. An owl had appeared at her desk late this afternoon and the letter it carried claimed responsibility for the attacks. A group called "Humbaba" had planned and carried out the recent attack on the Atrium fountain and were threatening more attacks if their demands – that the Minister and head of the Magical Law Enforcement Agency resign – were not met. Oh god, this was going to make her _career!_

* * *

 _"Foreknowledge of the future makes it possible to manipulate both enemies and supporters."_ -Raymond Aron

* * *

Harry slipped into Diagon Alley the night the letter to Rita Skeeter had been published, entering the alley as a small group of late night carousers left under his invisibility cloak. He climbed up a nearby shop to the roof, and after spelling his feet silent and his body lighter, he ran across the rooftops toward Gringotts. Harry actually sort of liked goblins. In theory anyway, even if they were proud, slightly xenophobic, and condescending in practice. They were a community who protected their own, minded their own business, and did it very well. That was something Harry could appreciate and their xenophobia, while as ugly as any bigotry, was understandable given their history with humans.

Accordingly, Harry was going to do his best not to actually kill any goblins. Just embarrass the hell out of them.

* * *

 _"An endless empire which has no boundaries, even no territory, requires war without end. An invisible empire requires infinite war, and a new doctrine of war to justify it."_ -Ellen Meiksins Wood.

* * *

"I don't negotiate with terrorists," Barty Crouch said loudly, ignoring the Minister's sputtering. " 'Humbaba' can talk as much as they like, but I won't give in."

The reporter girl—Skeeter or Skito, he couldn't be bothered to remember—eyed him, probably wondering exactly how to misquote or misconstrue what he had just said. "What will you do instead? The public will want to know."

"I will hunt them down," he said evenly. "The safety of the public is my top priority and I will not allow monsters like them to do harm to this community."

* * *

_Humbaba Strikes Again!_

Oh, how Rita loved it when her name graced the front page. She sipped her breakfast tea and pursued her article with satisfaction.

* * *

Harry thought Ansiedora had been left alone long enough to loose touch with the world. Enough so to allow for her release, at any rate, and retrieved her from her cell one July evening, after six weeks of confinement. She jumped when he woke her from a doze and crawled away from him into a corner of the small room, a fearful look in her face. She hadn't seen another human in a month and a half and was broken already anyway, so fear was a sensible reaction.

"Come on," he coaxed her, holding out a thick blanket. "It's ok, I promise." When she didn't move, he gradually inched closer to her, pausing occasionally and keeping his hands where she could see them. Ansiedora still looked fearful, but she hadn't started gibbering so he supposed that was a good sign. When he got close to her, he gently put the blanket over her and stepped back. She had stiffened when he laid it on her, but as it warmed up, she relaxed.

Over the next few days, Harry coaxed her out of her cell, though he took pains to keep contact with her minimal; he didn't want her to remember him. She spent her time in a small sitting room, filled with brightly colored toys and pillows.

When Harry thought she was ready to be released, he got her to bathe and put on some warm clothing before taking her outside the bunker that had been her cage for the last year and more. He Oblivated and Stunned her before Apparating to a place outside Knockturn Alley, where he revived her. Harry moved them forward, propelling Ansiedora in a little front of him with a hand at the small of her back and he kept their hoods low as they made their way though the seedy pub that served as Knockturn Alley's entrance and no one paid them much attention.

They trekked through the alley, heading to the juncture where Knockturn met Diagon, where he intended to leave her.

* * *

It was already muggy and gross, so Laura hurried on her way to her shop through the alley. It was early yet, so there weren't too many people out. The shop was right on the border with Knockturn, which, while not the best area, was still a busy spot and a decent place to have a business. She and her husband sold shoes, and there was a new shipment of shoes to put away before she opened for the day.

Laura was a half blood and had spent plenty of time with her muggle relatives in London proper, so she knew what a homeless person looked like, but she had never seen one in the Wizarding world. This ball of humanity, curled up on the stoop, could be nothing else, despite the rich violet cloak she or he wore. Laura tried to gently take the person's shoulder. "Hey, are you all right?"

The figure jumped and large, frightened eyes met her own. The woman jabbered something unintelligible and retreated as far into the corner as the building would allow, looking terrified and lost.

"No, it's ok," Laura coaxed, wanting the woman to get out of her doorway, "I promise. Just come with me, please." When the woman would come no closer, she sighed. Laura didn't want to bring the Aurors in, but she was beginning to suspect she didn't have a choice. Trying to remove the woman herself would be both awkward and possibly bad for business, if someone saw her dragging a woman out of her way. Image was important, after all.

She sought an Auror.

* * *

Rudolphus had sometimes wondered what Ibex had done with Ansiedora. No one had seen hide nor hair of her for well over a year and most people assumed she had simply moved away without telling anyone. Rudolphus himself thought Ibex had probably killed her.

The headline of The _Daily Prophet_ on July 27, 1987 said otherwise.

**Aneris Heiress Found in Diagon!**


	13. Cat's Paw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the deal: a) my previous beta has gone off on his mission, so I'm in need of a new one – PM me if you're interested (a Brit-picker would be helpful, too!). b) Still writing that massive 100k fic, even though I've abandoned the fest I was gonna do it for, and it's still first priority

_An ape and cat in roguery and fun  
Sworn brothers twain both owned a common master  
Whatever mischief in the house was done  
By Pug and Tom contrived was each disaster  
The feat performed in chimney corner snug  
With face demure sat cunning Tom and Pug  
By Tom were mice and rats but rarely taken  
A duck or chicken better met his wishes  
More than the rat Tom gnawed the cheese and bacon  
Twas Pug's delight to break the china dishes  
And on the choicest viands oft a guttler  
Still made it seem the footman or the butler  
One winter's day was seen this hopeful pair  
Close to the kitchen fire as usual posted  
Amongst the red hot coals the cook with care  
Had placed some nice plump chesnuts to be roasted  
From whence in smoke a pungent odour rose  
Whose oily fragrance struck the monkey's nose_  
" _Tom" says sly Pug, "pray could not you and I  
Share this dessert the cook is pleased to cater  
Had I such claws as your's I'd quickly try  
Lend me a hand twill be a coup de maitre."  
So said he seized his colleague's ready paw  
Pulled out the fruit and crammed it in his jaw  
Now came the shining priestess of the fane  
And off in haste the two marauders scampered  
Tom for his share of the plunder had the pain  
Whilst Pug his palate with the dainties pampered  
Pug had the prize Tom gained at least the learning  
That Pug loved nuts and gave his friend the burning._

_-Fables, Original and Selected_

* * *

The offices of both Crouch and Minister Bagnold were torched two weeks apart while the respective occupants were out for lunch. No one had been able to figure out how, because no one had gone in or out of either office during their lunch periods. The day after the Minister's office was attacked, letters arrived on both desks and on that of the head editor of the _Prophet,_ informing them of who had done it – Humbaba, not that anyone was surprised. The _Prophet_ was ablaze with speculation as to whether Humbaba's demands would be met, in the editorials, letters to the editor, and in the articles themselves, despite Crouch and Bagnold's best efforts to clamp down.

In some ways, this was bigger than the Atrium attack. It was a strike against two important figures in broad daylight. Humbaba had, from all appearances, effortlessly overriding the enchantments to prevent fires in offices and had done so in a way that wasn't traceable.

Shortly after that, Saint Mungo's suffered a blow. The lobby was destroyed and another five people died, and the Ministry had had to figure out a way to explain to an irritated Muggle Prime Minister why a large, apparently abandoned department store in an inoffensive and unimportant part of London had blown up.

The Muggle Minister had been displeased, told Bagnold to get it together, and decided that the IRA was a good enough place to lay the blame.

* * *

Perhaps the surest test of an individual's integrity is his refusal to do or say anything that would damage his self-respect. -Thomas S. Monson

* * *

Harry was starting to drift off, curled around the body of a very indulgent Callisto when the loud _tap tap tap_ of a bird's beak on the window broke the comfortable haze of post-coital sleepiness. He growled and tucked his face against the back of her neck, full intending to ignore the animal until it went the fuck away.

_Tap tap tap._

_Tap tap tap._

There was a long pause.

_TAP TAP TAP_

"Harry," she grumbled at him, reaching back and shaking his hip. "Go answer the window." He grunted and Callisto prodded his side with a long, pointed finger. "I'll leave if you don't."

That made him get up. "Fine, fine," he muttered as he climbed out of bed and flung open the window, almost knocking the bird clear off the window ledge. "What?" he ground out.

The owl gave him a birdy version of an angry look as it stuck out a leg, a letter tied to it just above its claw. When he took the letter, it hopped back and perched on the inner ledge, clearly waiting for a reply.

"You shit on my window sill, bird, and I will _cook you._ " He glared at it, contemplating throwing it out the window anyway as it gave him a haughty look. It would just tap on the window again and Callisto would go back to Knossos, no two ways about it.

_Lord Ibex,_

_There will be no further cooperation between us._

_Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore,  
Grand Sorc., D. Wiz., X.J.(sorc.), S. of Mag.Q., Order of Merlin - First Class_

Harry was amused. If push came to shove, Dumbledore would feel he had no choice in the matter and cooperate with Harry anyway. The Headmaster was doubtlessly aware of this, too, but felt a symbolic severance was necessary, possibly to assuage his conscious and that of the Order.  
Perhaps he was going to ramp up his interference with Harry's intentions now.

Nodding to himself, Harry dropped into his desk chair and decided how to reply, turning over the letter in his hands as he thought. It would serve him well to get an ear in the Headmaster's office, if he could, and charming something that would be present on his desk would be good. A token would be looked at like the Trojan Horse it was, and it was doubtful that any spell attached to the reply would useful. If Dumbledore kept their correspondence, he wouldn't put it anywhere that would serve Harry's purposes. If he could control the situation more, he'd put a transferable spell on the letter so that when it landed on Dumbledore's desk, it would attach itself to the wood, but that wasn't an option with the owl as the middle man.

And then a better idea occurred to him. Harry spelled the letter with a touch of a finger and tied it back on the bird before throwing the owl back into the night air.

* * *

 _Legend has it that Cleopatra succeeded through her seductive charms, but in reality her power came from an ability to get people to do her bidding without realizing they were being manipulated. Caesar and Antony no only rid her of her most dangerous siblings – Ptolemy XIII and Arsione – they decimated_ all _of her enemies, both in the government and the military. The two men became her cat's-paws. They entered the fire for her, did the ugly but necessary work, while shielding her from appearing as the destroyer of her siblings and fellow Egyptians. And in the end, both men acquiesced to her desire to rule Egypt not as a Roman colony, but as an independent allied kingdom. And they did this all for her without realizing how she had manipulated them. This was persuasion of the subtlest and post powerful kind. – The 48 Laws of Power,_ Robert Greene

* * *

The search for Humbaba was on. Barty Crouch was well on the way to turning it into the proverbial witch hunt, upending department after department and investigating all the wrong people. Harry amused himself by helping Crouch along and having Barty, Jr. plant more orbs in his father's home. He also set about planning more attacks, which Richard and Barty, Jr. would carry out; Hogsmede was close enough to Hogwarts to be symbolically important and another strike on the Ministry would be useful.

With all that in mind, Harry called a first hierarchy meeting one evening in December, lounging at the head of the table and talking quietly to Tillman as everyone filed in, including Snape. He caught the odd looks both Snape's presence and Rabastan's stiff-backed, frosty demeanor earned, and kept his amusement to himself. Nothing incredibly important would be discussed tonight due to Snape's presence, and those who needed to know that were already aware.

When all were seated and accounted for, he allowed Tillman to settle at his elbow and turned his attention to the meeting-goers. "Good evening," he greeted, looking at them all expectantly as they greeted him in return and he was hid a smile when Rabastan's reply was barely within acceptable bounds. "Now," he said clapping his hands once, "I'd like to keep this short, so you're going to give me your reports, I'll tell you what you need to know, and then I'll let most of you go for the night." Harry looked at Rudolphus and added, "You first."

Harry listened with satisfaction to their progress reports, watching the silent by-play between the others in the room. That was half the reason why he called actual meetings instead of having them send everything to Tillman. Seeing them in person told him just as much, if not more, than the reports themselves, indicating the reliability of the information and allowing him to observe the politics amongst them. Currently, the tide was shifting against the Lestranges as Harry continued to ignore Rabastan and he could practically feel the forming resentment toward Crouch, perched as he was near the head of the table.

"Happy Christmas to you all and see you next year," Harry said, signaling the end of the meeting. As the others began to depart, he added, "Snape and Barty, stay. Tillman, please take Barty to my office while I have a chat with the good professor."

Tillman nodded and lead Barty away, leaving Harry and Snape alone in the meeting room. He arched an eyebrow at the other man. "I assume you're aware of the Headmaster's intention to refuse all future cooperation?"

Snape nodded, looking like he was restraining a sneer.

"That leaves you with two options," Harry said evenly. "You may continue to serve in the capacity you have been, or you may retire and take an Unbreakable Vow to keep everything you know to yourself and stay out of all future conflicts involving me." He allowed amusement to glitter in his eyes, watching Snape's internal struggle. "Why serve two masters when you are no longer needed by either?" Snape was never going to know anything he didn't want the Headmaster to know and he was no longer needed as a liaison between Harry and Dumbledore, so he was very nearly useless.

"What," Snape asked after a long moment, "what if I were to transfer my full loyalty to you instead of Dumbledore?"

Harry chuckled. "You can't transfer loyalties from places they aren't," he replied. "Think on it, Severus. What rejection motivated you to join the Death Eaters? Why do you _really_ belong to the Order? Who do you _actually_ serve? It's neither the Headmaster or myself, though I have certain, redheaded, suspicions." Harry looked at Snape, watching the barely restrained anger and embarrassment bubble behind his eyes. "I expect your answer before the new year. Dismissed," he said.

"Yes, my lord," Snape ground out and got up. He was stiff-backed with fury as he departed and Harry sighed.

He stretched, got up, too, and made his way to his office, where Crouch awaited his attention. The daddy issues half the Wizarding world seemed to have were quite useful.


End file.
